


Gaining, Losing

by JessenoSabaku



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Developing Relationship, Different From Human Emotions, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Humanity, Hurt/Comfort, I try to tackle heavy topics, M/M, Meditation, Mind Meld, Omnic Emotions, Other, Panic Attacks, Personal Canon, Personal Canon for the Shambali, Post-Omnic Crisis, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unconventional Relationship, while keeping them palatable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessenoSabaku/pseuds/JessenoSabaku
Summary: Meditation is the key to enlightenment. It is the key to peace. But when Genji meditates, he finds a great nothingness, too dark and familiar. He cannot come to terms with his body, nor the events that ripped his flesh from him. He has trouble letting his master help, and Zenyatta has just as much trouble helping. When words fail to help them communicate, they try a more direct approach, and Genji learns his master has more emotions than he thought. And many of them for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: The Genji in this fic is basically the Blackwatch Genji design. The story takes place about half a year after Genji has come to Nepal, before which he spent many years wandering the world after the collapse of Overwatch. This is why he still has his left arm, most of the skin on his face, and a functioning heart and pseudo-stomach left. Please allow for some suspension of disbelief regarding any of the physical things that happen to him.
> 
> Throughout this fic, I will be developing my own version of the Shambali ideology, as well as their origin story. You will see primarily Buddhist and Hindu influences. Blizzard has not published an extensive account of their faith yet, so if they do after I start this fic, it will become canon-divergent. Please forgive me if so. I am really attached to my personal canon and would like to see it through for this story.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading.

Genji found his sensei outside at the shrine in the middle of the village, motionless aside from his hovering, staring at the blanket of proffered red flowers around its base. A thin breeze stirred up the petals--they never danced farther than the edge of the omnic’s shadow.

Zenyatta’s head lifted at the sound of Genji’s footsteps and he turned, raising a friendly hand. This type of greeting had become common ever since Genji once complained Zenyatta’s mood was unreadable, on account of his impassive expression.

“You really love the flowers, sensei,” Genji noted as he approached. “You seem to admire them more than the shrine.” 

A warm, tinny chuckle rang through the air. “I admire the villagers’ dedication. Not once have I seen a dead flower at this shrine.”

Genji knelt and paid his respects at the shrine. “The scent really soothes the soul.”

“So I’ve been told.” Zenyatta held up a hand to stop Genji from bowing to him as well. “What brings you here, my student? Certainly you are not here to talk about the flowers.”

“I’m taking a break from my training. I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

“Training of the spirit?” Zenyatta asked, knowing that when Genji said ‘training’ he meant target practice, sparring with conscripts, and honing his strength. Something Zenyatta didn’t have a problem with unless it greatly impinged on Genji’s spiritual endeavors. Genji shifted uncomfortably, adopting a guilty stance he wished his master couldn’t read.

The omnic glanced back toward the shrine wistfully, sighing, “Your days are filled with disquiet. Your skill is important, but so is your soul.”

“I’m working hard. I’ve been following your teachings,” Genji responded defensively.

His master turned back, stoic faceplate reflecting the red eye of the evening sun. “You have. But you need a break. How can you find peace if you’re always fighting?”

A surge of frustration lit up Genji’s circuits. He wanted to argue, but felt shame at the thought of criticizing his sensei. He watched silently as Zenyatta floated over, orbs spinning about his neck, and held out his palm. “Care to join me for a walk in the mountains? Not too far, of course. You remember what happened last time.”

Breathing a short laugh, Genji said smartly, “I do. Try to pay attention to your temperature gauge this time. If your mind is so transcendent that you can’t even tell when you’re freezing …”

The outstretched metal palm raised in defeat. “I will be careful. How lucky I am to have a student who knows when to scold me.”

Zenyatta’s mirthful tone brought a wave of crimson to Genji’s hidden face. He wondered how long his master would goodnaturedly overlook such insubordinate remarks.

They descended the steps and crossed through the village, each of Genji’s footsteps crunching in the light patches of snow. Here, at the village and the monastery, he didn’t have to hide his footsteps. All the villagers knew him by name. A few acolytes darted out from between houses to greet them, recognizing Genji by the thud of his feet. Here he was free to have a presence heavier than flesh and blood. Neither did he have to quiet his heartbeat.

Immediately outside the village lay the mountain trail, thin brown stretches of dirt mottled with pure white. As they walked, the snow thickened until the dirt disappeared and only a line of rocks could suggest the boundaries of the path. As a younger man, Genji had only set foot in snow a few times in his life. He couldn’t feel it now, but his circuitry sent his brain an occasional ping to remind him of the temperature of his feet.

They walked in complete silence for a half hour, carefully navigating the slippery path, with no sound but the thrumming of Zenyatta’s orbs. Eventually they reached a small gazebo off the main path that overlooked the village. From there, they sat on the ground and watched the monastery rise into the sky until it pierced the heavens. Or rather, Genji sat, and Zenyatta hovered a mere few inches off the ground.

Sensing something in the air between them, Zenyatta asked, “What is on your mind?”

Genji opened his mouth and paused, hesitant. “Nothing. Nothing,” he repeated. “Just a senseless thought. I wondered if you’d ever walked in the snow before. Put your feet in and felt it.”

The omnic turned his head a bit, humming thoughtfully. “I can’t honestly remember the last time I walked on my own two feet. Though I can recall being teased for my unsightly walk.”

“By who?” Genji asked, feeling his irritation rise once more, just after the crisp mountain air had calmed him down.

Gentle laughter bubbled out like a stream, somewhat easing Genji’s nerves. “Someone who is now above the both of us.”

Zenyatta studied a small pile of snow crowding the stone ground on his left side before curiously gathering some in his hands. He held it up to the red sky and, as if blessed, the flakes sifted gold through his fingers and were carried away by the breeze. The sight unlocked something inside Genji’s chest. He watched the snow fly off into nothingness and breathed in slowly.

“I spent a lot of time in these mountains when I first came here,” Zenyatta spoke soothingly, staring somewhere Genji couldn’t see. “I used to travel to higher points of the mountain, to the greater gazebos and shrines on the trail, and meditate.”

“And freeze?” Genji mumbled.

“And freeze,” Zenyatta nodded, amused as always. “Whenever I felt disquiet in my soul, I walked here. All day and all night I meditated, letting the earth pass through and around me. I would lose track of time, sometimes for days, until someone retrieved me.”

Genji remembered that time hiking up the mountain trail, when his master really did freeze, and finding him at a gazebo a mile farther up. He remembered clearing the snow that had piled up on the omnic’s bright pate, hearing a metallic shudder of awakening, and the worry that lashed out in bitterness, demanding to know how Zenyatta could possibly understand the bite of winter.

Fingers clenching on his legs, Genji sat up straighter and said to himself, “Maybe that’s what I lack. Time, space, the right environment. The village can be so distracting …”

The sound of orbs oscillating made him turn his head. Zenyatta brought a skeletal hand to his golden chin in contemplation. “Perhaps. Similar practices are common among all the omnic monks I know. However, everyone has their own way.”

“It can’t hurt to try,” Genji insisted. “If it worked for you, surely it can do some good for me.”

“Your zeal is commendable. And infectious,” Zenyatta noted with faint pleasure. “Shall we meditate together, then?”

“For the whole day?” Genji asked, incredulous. “You have better things to do.”

Zenyatta dipped his head in questioningly. “Such as?” At moments like these, he seemed to forget he was a monk with responsibilities for the entire temple, with other pupils to attend to--albeit on a less rigorous and consistent schedule.

“Please, sensei. This is something I must do for myself. There is no point if I cannot succeed on my own.”

“Hm. If you feel so strongly about this, I suppose I will only get in your way by staying.” The omnic calmly bridged his fingers together before asking playfully, “But perhaps I could inconvenience you for, say, thirty minutes?”

The responding laugh was answer enough.

-

Throughout the night, Genji meditated alone at the gazebo where Zenyatta left him. The pale moonlight showered him in gentle silver, bombarding his peaceful mind with childhood memories of the few quiet nights he’d spent on good terms with Hanzo. Times when they laid in the grass together and watched the stars. He could feel the phantom softness at his back and the scent of lawn clippings, recently mowed by the caretakers of the main Shimada compound. There were other flashes of recollection, too--a waning crescent glimpsed out the window of a high-rise hotel, where beside him on the bed another body breathed deep sleep. He could remember that smell, too, but its memory was just as muffled and distorted as the first. He closed his eyes and strained to regain the sense of harmony Zenyatta had left him with after that half hour of “inconvenience.”

Periodically, while floating in and out of quiet contemplation, he would distantly hear the unmistakable whirr of his master approaching. When the sound drew near, he felt a connection reignite between him and hard-fought tranquility, seeping warmly into his brain. When the comfortable presence would inevitably fade, Genji consoled himself, feeling with every fiber of his being that he had been re-centered and would now last the rest of the night with his peace of mind intact.

The moon had other plans. And after the sun finally rose in the sky, Zenyatta stopped visiting. A thin glaze of ice that accumulated on Genji’s body began to thaw under the morning light, and yet warmth existed as a mere suggestion of data. He remembered again, unwillingly, that time Zenyatta almost froze in the mountain gazebo, the bitter wash of worry, and the fear of death, because death had taken all of Genji once and left only pieces behind.

He’d never forget his master’s stoic faceplate, looking up at him, staring along with the nine sacred dots on his forehead. Human monks had to burn those marks into their skin. Maybe Zenyatta would be able to comprehend that, but he’d never understand.

Genji’s scars itched and crawled like spiders up his jaw and over his cheekbones, constantly squirming. He willed himself back to calmness. A part of him, surging above his pride like a swallow, wished for Zenyatta to come back and bring peace with him again.

He didn’t.

-

As the afternoon sun baked away winter’s ice and filled the streets with slushy mud, the monastery bloomed with the footsteps of acolytes, monks, and visitors from both near and far. A young German couple knelt at the shrine outside the monastery, the man human and the woman omnic. The man flagged down Zenyatta and asked him questions in a boisterous voice while his partner offered a cluster of red irises and knapweed to the quilt of flowers at the shrine’s base. The woman apologized for bringing weeds, but she had wanted to bring something from their garden so that their house might be blessed with peace. The lilies, magnolias, and tulips they had planted were consumed by the knapweed. They bought the irises, so at least they could offer more than weeds. Zenyatta assured them that all flowers bloomed equally beautiful within the Iris.

He led them into the monastery and left them in the care of another monk while he went to check on the humble kitchen. Dinner would be served soon--not much more than bread and fish, but sweet ambrosia to tired visitors from miles away. The two acolytes on kitchen duty informed him that everything was in order.

One asked curiously, “Will Genji be joining us?”

“I doubt it. He has committed to a day of meditation,” Zenyatta explained. And when Genji committed to something, he always followed through, almost to the point of obsession.

“Oh,” the acolyte answered, trying not to appear crestfallen. “Just making sure. I didn’t see him today and, well … he always skips breakfast, but he skipped lunch today too …”

Genji didn’t _need_ to eat, but he still could. Normally monks were only fed what they needed to survive, as part of their spiritual journey. Of course, omnics ate nothing. Genji was an exception, one looked down upon by more than a few monks who questioned his seriousness. Others realized that even though he didn’t need to eat, his eating was anything but recreational. Complaints had been brought up to Zenyatta and even Mondatta directly--if Mondatta had a strong opinion, he danced around it quite well. And Zenyatta … well, Zenyatta saw no need to beg the approval of others. He simply explained what he could and left it at that.

The whispers inevitably reached Genji’s ears. No kind words could soothe the sting of pride. But times like this, and acolytes such as this one, always shone as beacons in the dark night. They were a reminder that flesh and bone still considered Genji their own.

“He would be honored by your thoughtfulness. I’ll be sure to let him know not to miss meals tomorrow,” Zenyatta promised.

“Y-you don’t need to do that,” the young man protested, scratching at the stubble on his scalp, but Zenyatta was already hovering on to another room.

Dinner came and went without fanfare, and the day marched on quickly to its end. A patchy group of travellers amassed outside the monastery, arranging the night’s accommodations. Some villagers offered their houses. A particularly adventurous few guests asked to spend the night in the monastery with the monks. Among them were the German couple, who ended the day significantly more awed than they were when they arrived.

The acolyte from the kitchen caught sight of Zenyatta while he patiently listened to a young woman anxiously stammer about wanting to stay in the monastery, but she was uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a room with a male monk. The acolyte pushed towards them through the gaggle of tourists.

“Excuse me, I just need to borrow him for a second,” he interrupted politely, pulling Zenyatta to the side. “I saw your student in the mountain gazebo.”

“Oh? And how is he?” Zenyatta asked.

“Still as the dead,” the acolyte joked. “I tried talking to him but he wouldn’t respond. I could hear him breathing, though, so he seems fine.”

Head tilting to the side, Zenyatta hummed, “Then what is the trouble?”

“I’ve heard talk that the weather is going to be really bad tonight. Especially after the sun sets. Do you know when he plans to come back?”

“We did not discuss any concrete plans, no. I assume he will return before night falls.” The omnic turned to look at the mountain. “I don’t want to pester him, but if he doesn’t come back before dark, I will check on him.”

“Both of you be careful. The mountains will get a lot of snow tonight,” the acolyte warned him before leaving him to his previous troublesome task. He thought nothing more of their conversation about Genji.

Night came soon enough, bringing with it the snores of weary travellers and a stiff wind. But it did not bring his student back. He left his room, where the German couple huddled together under a blanket on the meager bedding in the corner, and floated into the monastery’s sanctum. There he saw the acolyte, poised under the giant arches of the entrance, peeking out into the moonlight. He straightened up as Zenyatta approached.

“I know,” Zenyatta stopped him before he could speak. “I am leaving for the mountains.”

“Can I come with you?” the acolyte asked, face falling when the omnic shook his head.

“I can stand the cold better than you can,” Zenyatta pointed out, “and you need your sleep. Tomorrow will be just as long as today.”

“Then take this.” The acolyte removed his sash and wrapped it around Zenyatta’s neck. The plain fabric was a deep red gash in his machinery. “Omnics get cold, too.”

Zenyatta thanked him and sent him off to bed. Only after his footsteps disappeared down the hall did Zenyatta finally float out into the dry, frigid night, light as a ghost returning home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji thinks he is a failure. All Zenyatta can do is try to keep him warm.
> 
> TW: First panic/anxiety attack and flashback

Nebulous blackness. Winding smoke, punctured by rays of light. Filling, consuming, breathing inside Genji’s stomach was the yawning chasm where heat had once been. He couldn’t remember how long he sat, consumed by thoughts of nothing, but not the kind so sweet as the tranquility the monks talked about. All he knew was sprawling darkness, the absence of his hands, his feet, and for all he knew, his guts could have spilled out onto the ground too--what was left of them. He sat immobile as a stump with all its rings exposed.

A buzzing sound slowly, steadily pushed its way into his awareness until it lodged like a shard of crystal in his brain. It took him a while to recognize the sound, and longer still to hear the urgent voice calling him. He opened his eyes and saw a vague silhouette through the iced-over shield of his lashes. His body lurched back and forth as two hands shook him firmly.

“Sensei,” his voice cracked through dry lips. “Don’t do that.”

He heard a sharp, artificial inhale, and the hands pulled away. His master’s voice came out with a faint shudder, “You wouldn’t answer me.”

Panic rushed through Genji’s exhausted body and he pulled up his face guard, hoping it enable words past garbled speech. He caught a glimpse of Zenyatta’s impassive face as wind lashed at the surface of his bionic eyes. The face guard was forcibly pulled back down.

“It is too cold,” Zenyatta said emphatically, voice a little steadier now. “We must leave. You’ve been out here too long, and the weather is turning bad.”

“No,” Genji answered hollowly.

A short pause. “If you cannot stand, I will help you. But we really must leave now, before the snow gets worse--”

“I’m staying,” Genji repeated calmly, watching his master’s silhouette. A film of ice covered his eyes, making every detail murky. The omnic’s orbs clung close to his neck, shrouded in a deep red. “You won’t ruin this for me.”

Zenyatta said nothing. Seeing the open silence, Genji pressed weakly, “I almost had it, and then you came here and disturbed me.”

“I did not disturb you,” Zenyatta responded. “You had already moved.”

“What?” Genji asked incredulously, a low pulse of anger crawling up through layers of metal.

“You moved,” Zenyatta said. “Almost a mile farther than the gazebo I left you at. Stand up--we must go home now, or else we won’t make it back in time.”

A hand grasped at his arm and he jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” The hand came again, and this time he struck with all the might he could muster, knocking against his master’s arm and chest. He crawled backwards into a crouch, knees almost touching his chin. “Don’t _touch me_. I feel fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel.” Genji took a shuddering breath, forced himself to relax, and said, “I can do this. I know you’re trying to help, but I can do this. I know my limits.”

He tensed, expecting the hand to come again, expecting Zenyatta to forcibly remove him, but nothing happened. He saw Zenyatta’s form lower, knees connecting with the ground so that he was on the same level as Genji. The orbs whirred to life and flashed thin stripes of blue light. He stared at Zenyatta’s knees, transfixed, wanting to flip up the face guard and expose his scars to the cold but afraid it would be slammed down again.

“Your pants,” was all he could say. “Your pants will get wet.”

“I suppose they will,” Zenyatta observed calmly.

“They’ll get wet. If they soak through--” Genji stopped himself short.

Zenyatta finished the thought, pointing out, “I won’t know the difference.”

“You don’t understand,” Genji ground out, all the while knowing how pointless it was to state the obvious fact that for humans, wet clothes in freezing temperatures meant hypothermia. For Zenyatta, it didn’t matter. Genji wanted it to matter.

“I don’t understand,” Zenyatta admitted. “I feel there’s something I should say, but I don’t know what. But Genji, there’s something you also must know: whether you feel it or not, you’re freezing.”

Genji was silent. He knew. He had felt it. By nightfall the first day, he had felt the cold gnawing through the half-dead flesh of his left arm and his metal abdomen. Somewhere in the hollow echoes of his mind, he had decided on this outcome and accepted it.

He barely registered the sight of Zenyatta pointing a finger at him. “This is not like the time when I froze. There are still parts of you that will cease to work if you don’t stay warm. You can’t afford that.”

Still he gave no reply, clutching at his legs--a reflex that gave no feeling or relief anymore. He tried desperately to piece together a rebuttal in his head, but all thoughts slipped back towards that dark, black nothing.

“Whatever you are going through, I want to understand. And I don’t want to force you to do anything,” Zenyatta started, “So I will give you a choice: stand up and walk back on your own two feet, or be carried back by me.”

Genji met his master’s stare challengingly. He’d learned long ago that he could strike fear into Zenyatta this way, crouched and unwilling to move, with the ultimate weapon of distrust gleaming threateningly in his red eye.

But, what was the use of a staring contest with a man whose face would never change?

Slowly, unwillingly, Genji straightened and stood. He looked down on his sensei’s form and from the new angle Zenyatta appeared prostrate. Something burned inside, in his face and his gut, the first suggestion of true heat that did not have to slog through hard steel.

Instead of regaining flight, Zenyatta stood manually with a jerky bounce of his head and shoulders. With feet planted firmly on the ground, he stood as unwavering as the monastery’s roof cleaved the clouds. Genji was still struggling to process the situation when Zenyatta cautiously held out a hand. Through the blotted scrim of icy lashes, he almost looked human.

Instead of taking the hand, Genji leaned into his teacher’s side and sensed something draw about his shoulders. He looked down to see red, fluttering cloth wrap around him. An arm circled around his back--close, prepared, but not touching.

The wind kicked up in a piercing howl, whisking snow and debris from the divots in Genji’s craggy body. They braced themselves and pushed against the gale to head back down the mountain. Zenyatta carefully led the way, cutting the path down the merciless mountainside like a steel wire through bare skin. The farther they walked the more Genji leaned on him, vision blurring with the constant whirls of white dust. They walked and walked until Genji couldn’t walk anymore and collapsed to his knees.

“Here is fine,” he mumbled.

“We are still thirty minutes away,” Zenyatta pleaded as he kneeled beside him. No matter how much he prompted Genji to move, he refused to get up and eventually stopped responding. Finally, Zenyatta commanded, “Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to lift you.”

Genji gave a few incoherent protests, to which Zenyatta answered firmly, “This is no time for your pride, Genji. It will survive me carrying you.”

Still, Genji refused to put his arms around Zenyatta’s neck. Zenyatta lifted him anyway, though with considerably more trouble. Genji was too tired to feel guilt. After gathering him up carefully, Zenyatta pulled his own feet off the ground and began floating again, cradling his student in his arms and lap. They sped down the remainder of the mountain, Genji’s forehead tucked in the crevice between his master’s side and arm.

The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar room dimly lit by an electrical wall sconce, still held up by Zenyatta. He heard a double-throated hum of hushed, unintelligible words, answered by a young female voice that faded along with hollow footsteps. He looked up to see the golden stub of Zenyatta’s chin as he was lowered into a chair he couldn’t see.

“Is this … the monastery?” he asked in confusion.

“No. This is an inn. There was no time to bring you all the way back.” Carefully, Zenyatta removed Genji’s face guard and pulled the red sash from his neck. “Your face is so pale. Can you move your left arm? Has it frozen?”

Miraculously, it hadn’t. Genji proved this by laboriously turning and flexing the limb. Zenyatta led him to a small bed on the floor, where he sat and allowed himself to be wrapped in the extra blankets provided by the innkeeper.

Zenyatta instructed him not to fall asleep and then left the room. After a few minutes he returned, bearing a tray with a tea kettle and a single ceramic cup. He knelt next to Genji and carefully poured some tea. :ittle white flowers rose to the top of the cup.

“They did not have your favorite Oolong tea, but they did have some of that jasmine tea we enjoyed together once. Do you remember? On our trip to Kathmandu.”

He remembered. They roomed at a beautiful temple and every afternoon they would visit the Garden of Dreams where they sat on a bench and basked in the sweet scent of all the flowers. At the temple, each night, a particularly austere acolyte monk shared some of his delicious jasmine tea. Of course, Zenyatta did not drink, but he joyfully held a cup and watched the delicate petals swirl until Genji finished and could drink Zenyatta’s.

A knife-edged pang stabbed at Genji’s stomach. Something about Zenyatta’s voice, speaking calmly as if nothing happened, filled him with frustration and guilt.

Zenyatta placed the cup in Genji’s metal hand. He took the other and pressed it against the cup. Finally warmth teased pins and needles into his fingers. The smell of jasmine filled his nose as Zenyatta readjusted the blankets around his shoulders. His sensei crawled to the center of the nearest wall, fumbled with something in the dark, and then a flame burst to life in his hands. The flash of light revealed an old metal fireplace loaded with wood and black soot from former fires. Zenyatta carefully lit the driest part of one log and fanned the fire lightly with one hand. It soon began a steady burn.

He pressed his palms together and commented with pleasure, “I have successfully lit my first fire.” Turning to Genji, he coaxed, “Will you not drink, my student? It will warm you faster.”

Faced with his master’s expectant gaze, Genji could do nothing except obey, but acquiescence came with a regretful, heavy look at the cup in his hands. He sipped a little too quickly, scalding his tongue and throat. Heat bloomed somewhere inside him once more, not quite where his stomach had been, not quite somewhere else. Tingling warmth raced through the nerves of his chest and fanned out more weakly along his left arm. Between the dissonance between right and left arm, and the relief of grounded sensation, Genji could not help shedding a few thick, silent tears. Luckily Zenyatta didn’t notice, staring serenely at the fire. That gave Genji enough time to wipe away the evidence.

“Perhaps now is not the time for questions, or conversation,” Zenyatta spoke solemnly. “Up in the mountains, I sensed a great darkness in you, one that begged to stay hidden. If you do not wish to, I will not make you talk. But at some point I think we ought to.”

He turned again and reiterated, “There is something wrong and I want to understand. I will ask you again later.”

The declaration brooked no argument while simultaneously promising to yield to future resistance, if the upheaval was great enough. Genji remained silent, holding his tea close to his chest. The tea, the fire, and the blankets were finally doing their job, and bringing ruddy color back to his cheeks through dedicated team effort. He felt exhausted, both empty and full at the same time, but a little farther away from the darkness that had consumed him in the mountain gazebo.

The innkeeper came by to check on them, imparting a few high praises to Zenyatta and soliciting promises to bless her inn. He agreed to grace the dining room with his presence the next day. By the time he sent her off and closed the door, Genji was peering into the fathoms of his empty cup.

“Would you like more?” Zenyatta asked. Genji sighed through his nose and held out the cup, as if in surrender. His master patiently retrieved the kettle and poured more for him. After the second cup was finished, Zenyatta wordlessly retired it to the tray. Genji finally seemed to have settled down enough for sleep to creep up on him, struggling to pull his eyelids shut. Still he never laid down, apparently intent on sleeping in an upright position, swathed in tightly-drawn blankets.

Zenyatta bade him goodnight and then drifted into sleep mode, which appeared more like another form of meditation, his head bowed and all his orbs suspended not more than an inch above the ground. If it weren’t for those orbs, Genji could’ve sworn all life had been completely sucked out of his master. Not a single whir or hum came from his stiff body.

Genji finally fell asleep while contemplating the outline of Zenyatta’s face. The nine blue forehead marks were lit only by darkness.

-

He awoke to the pungent smell of ash and an aching neck. The fire and candle were both extinguished, but light from a small, high window brightened the corners Genji had been unable to see the night before. Zenyatta was nowhere to be found.

Genji sat motionless for a while longer, head filled with emptiness--but one much less hostile than what he experienced while meditating. Eventually he stood and put on his faceguard. At least his scarred face would be hidden from the other inn-goers.

He left the room and walked down a narrow, one-way corridor that led directly into the cramped dining room. Sitting there on a table bench, surrounded by ragged villagers, tourists from other parts of Nepal, and children of all creeds was Zenyatta, holding them rapt with some story from his time spent in the monastery. He glanced up when Genji walked in, a momentary falter that caused approximately eight children to whip their heads around with curiosity. A few of them, unfamiliar with Genji, watched him with cautious trepidation. The others jumped up and crowded his feet, shouting, “It’s the ninja! Cyborg ninja!”

In the meager space there was to move, the children stealthily crept around him and pounced at his back. He pretended to be surprised and chased them down the hall, his sharp footsteps clanging back through the narrow hallway. He caught one child and, having no weapons to terrorize with, subjected him to vicious tickling until the child slipped away with his friends. Genji turned and prepared to give chase only to find Zenyatta had appeared at the end of the hallway, humbling the children into silence. The auspicious monk carried another tray in his hands, this one with a covered plate in addition to more tea.

“I have acquired breakfast. Where shall we eat?”

“I will eat in the room. Sensei, do not waste time on me--I feel much better today,” Genji insisted gently. “You should spend time with your followers.”

Zenyatta cocked his head. “Am I not doing that now?”

Genji resisted the urge to sigh. When Zenyatta got like this, he was impossible to reason with. “Please open the door for me,” he requested. Genji held the door for his master and followed him inside.

Zenyatta pulled up a small table and chair, setting down the tray. Once more, he poured a cup of tea while Genji sat down and removed his faceguard. All the inn had was fish, rice, and naan bread filled with cherries, but such was a feast for Genji who lived on a monk’s diet at the monastery. The faintest memories of hunger carried him away as he picked up the naan and bit off a piece. Zenyatta held the cup and watched the flowers swirl, leaning forward as if a breath away from taking a drink.

After the fish and bread were gone and only a few spoonfuls of rice were left, Genji took a deep breath and muttered, “I don’t think I know what peace is.”

Zenyatta raised his head, but said nothing. Genji stared at him long and hard, begging him to continue the conversation and give him some guidance.

“You mean to say you’ve never felt peace,” Zenyatta said slowly, and the word choice hit hard.

“How can I strive for peace if I don’t know what it is?” Genji pressed.

He knew this wasn’t the conversation Zenyatta meant to have with him the night before. But it was close, just a hair’s breadth away.

The omnic peered up at some unintelligible, likely unseeable thing just above Genji’s head. “That is a hard question. Peace, in the general sense, is easy. It’s like free-floating, or the feeling of a bright day when you have nothing to do or think about. But peace within the Iris ….”

He rested both palms against the table and looked down at them.

“True peace that transcends everything else--is a ripple frozen in that emptiness. At least, that is the only way I can think to describe it.”

“You always talk in riddles,” Genji groaned in frustration, scrubbing his face.

“That is how the Iris speaks to us all. It annoys me too sometimes,” Zenyatta hummed. “Think of it as existence and nonexistence at the same time. The emptiness must be disturbed by something, or it is mere emptiness. But true self is without form, and endless. Peace is a ripple that never stops but never goes anyplace. In the middle of that ripple is you, everyone you’ve ever met, every sight you’ve ever seen, together as one. You are the same, null, but never completely void.”

None of the explanation helped at all. Genji had heard similar iterations before, but none made sense. “I need to study more,” he concluded. “I can do it if I train hard enough. If sensei can do it, I can too.”

“Genji, stop that,” Zenyatta sighed. Suddenly Genji realized he was rapidly drumming his fingers on the table. He stopped, folded his hands, and apologized. “No, not that. Stop pushing yourself. You can put energy towards developing your spirit, but you can’t force peace.”

“Pushing myself? You’re mistaken, sensei, if you think this is me pushing myself. I’ll be fine, I won’t force it, but I still need practice. Practice is the only thing that helps. When we get back to the temple I’ll start meditating more on my own.”

He gazed up at his master expectantly, waiting for approval. Instead, Zenyatta pulled back his hands and commanded, “You will not meditate alone again. Not for a while.”

All the feeling went out of the fingers on Genji’s left hand. The tip of his nose tingled. “But I must meditate. You can’t keep me from meditating.”

“And I don’t mean to. But from now on, when you meditate, we meditate together.”

Genji sat there, back rigid as a board, and stared down into the wood grain for a long time. His consciousness vaulted back in time, back into old patterns and landscapes and he realized, this is it. The first point of isolation. The first point of control, when his zealous behaviors were recognized and forcibly tied down by the order of somebody he respected. He knew better than anyone how self-destructive he was, how hedonistic. He could only lust and claw for life’s goodnesses, even for peace. Even for the absence of desire.

Zenyatta couldn’t keep him from meditating on his own. And Genji knew he wouldn’t stop. He hadn’t changed that much in all the years since Hanzo cut him down. Even now, broken down, less than human, he still had the nerve to struggle for agency. He remembered the glint of betrayal in Hanzo’s eyes one night when sneaking out, even though he was on house arrest. He remembered his father locking him away somewhere underground for a week, an attempt to rehabilitate him. They could never fix him. The only choice left was to eradicate him.

This was it. The first inklings of distrust would bloom soon. The beginning of the end, with the one person he most wanted to be proud of him.

“Talk to me,” Zenyatta broke in. “Tell me what you are feeling.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Genji responded hollowly.

“You’re _hurting_.”

Genji jumped up from his seat, chair falling to the floor in a screeching tumble. He ground out through scarred lip folds and teeth, “If you know that then why did you _ask_ me? Why do you talk like you know everything?”

“I don’t know, and that’s why I ask,” Zenyatta replied coolly, and for a moment Genji wanted to rip his faceplate off.

He got on his knees, clenched fists resting on the table. “If I did something wrong, just tell me. You’re my sensei, you correct my mistakes. Don’t tell me I can’t meditate anymore and not tell me why.”

He almost immediately regretted this entreaty when Zenyatta, blunt and dry as the afternoon sun, answered, “This last time it hurt you. Until we figure out why, you need more preparation time.”

The entire room began spinning. Genji had never been more angry in his entire life. He knew why the meditation had hurt him, and Zenyatta knew too--he had to know. He knew everything, always, all the fucking time. The urge to strike him rose again, followed by a wave of shame for pinning his emotions onto his master. He stood and staggered over towards the bed, picking at jagged skin from the scars on his cheeks and chin--violently picking them over and over with both blunt metal fingers and nails. He heard his mouth mumble something without his permission.

“What was that?” Zenyatta called out, to no reply. “Please repeat what you said, I didn’t catch--”

“ _I wasn’t good enough_. That’s why this happened,” Genji nearly yelled. “There’s nothing to figure out, so just let me--why won’t you let me try again?” He wheeled around, scrambling for something he could say to earn his master’s faith, but the admittance of failure took away all possible proofs. Zenyatta had not moved, patiently watching his student unravel, and that’s when Genji couldn’t stand it any longer. His arms lashed out at the air and he growled in exasperation, “Why are you just sitting there, like nothing’s wrong?”

Again, regret rose powerfully in his chest when Zenyatta stood up on his own two feet, the second time Genji had ever seen him touch the ground. He put himself in front of Genji, only an arm’s breadth apart, and his steel frame was suddenly nine times as intimidating when anchored to the floor. His somber eye-slits glowed faintly.

“You often like to joke about that time you found me at the mountain gazebo, frozen and covered in snow,” he began, unhurried as a quiet stream, “But to me, that day was terrifying. It is easy to be empty, to be mindless, to be a machination and not an entity. And that’s what I became on that day. I have had similar experiences meditating before, but that time, I disappeared and almost did not come back. I might not have, if you hadn’t retrieved me. I can laugh about it now because of you.”

He tilted his head again, in that curious way he always did, and asked, “Was I not good enough?”

“You’re different. There’s no comparison.”

Zenyatta huffed. “ _Really_ , Genji. My brightest pupil should not think so little of himself that he can’t even be compared to his master.”

Genji felt his eyes sting. He couldn’t cry. The only alternative was arguing, but arguing with Zenyatta was like trying to convince the wheel of fate to stop turning. He was once again torn between passively accepting praise he didn’t believe in and the desire to shake Zenyatta until he told him what he should’ve done differently.

Zenyatta clasped Genji’s shoulders and implored, “Someday soon you’ll rise above me. So, please--meditate with me for a while longer before you go where I can’t reach you.”

Tears fell cold and wet onto Genji’s cheeks. No matter how sweetly Zenyatta phrased his words, he could only hear the echoes of his self-determined failings. Hateful thoughts swirled slowly in his mind like the last dregs of a typhoon whose damage would not soon be forgotten. Zenyatta gave a soft sigh and, with little left to break the silence, he gripped Genji harder.


	3. Chapter 3

After Zenyatta blessed the inn and they thanked the innkeeper, they left for the monastery. They arrived at around ten o’clock to find acolytes and tourists already bustling in every direction. The crowded square made Genji’s hackles raise with exhaustion. Monks and tourists alike headed for Zenyatta as soon as they saw him, but he silently deflected each one with a stiff wave.

On the way to Genji’s room, they ran into the kitchen acolyte. He was overjoyed to see them.

“I almost forgot to tell you, Genji,” Zenyatta piped up, “I promised him that I would ask you to attend lunch today. He was worried about you. Oh, and your sash--thank you for lending it to us.”

The acolyte’s face now a bright red, he received his sash with both hands, gaze flickering to Genji briefly before settling on Zenyatta’s face. Genji bowed his head, truly grateful, while fighting down a pang in his midsection at how the acolyte’s shimmering eyes lingered on his master for a moment too long.

They left the acolyte and went to the second floor of the monastery to Genji’s room. There was nothing but sparse bedding and a few wall scrolls that friends had given him with quotes from Nepalese philosophers who had preceded the Shambali. Usually when he slept, he stayed in Zenyatta’s room, chatting as his master painted auspicious messages for visiting believers at an archaic, cramped writing desk.

Genji lowered himself onto his bed, watching Zenyatta give the room a once-over. He knew his master could see this for what it was--a forced separation. He felt shame all over again.

“Make sure you dust off your sheets before you remove your faceguard. The air is very dry here. Is there anything you need?”

Genji bowed his head. “No, sensei, thank you.”

“If that changes, you know where to find me,” Zenyatta answered, bowing his head in return. He floated out of the room, shutting the door behind.

To Genji’s credit, he did not abridge his master’s faith on the sanctity of the monastery grounds. But by nightfall, after Zenyatta had put to bed a few straggling tourists and stopped by for a visit, Genji was meditating on the roof of a low-lying cottage. For the next week, he carried on secretly while taking lessons, attending to temple duties, and assisting the villagers. The houses toward the outskirts of the village were extremely stout, concealed by a smattering of taller buildings. Zenyatta did not personally visit there often, making it a perfect place to conduct his covert practices.

On one particularly chilly day, while crouched on a roof in a state of botched meditation, he sensed the unmistakable presence of his master approaching. He stayed still and silent until Zenyatta inevitably appeared, hovering through the narrow street. The metal faceplate swiveled around, searching, and eventually landed with a start on Genji. They watched each other impassively for a few moments.

“Good afternoon, Genji,” came the calm greeting. The use of his name brought back memories of parental scoldings. “Are you doing alright?”

“I am fine, master,” Genji replied stiffly. The mudra signs of his hands gave away his activity.

After a moment, Zenyatta serenely inquired, “May I join you?”

The answer was almost immediate. “No.”

Zenyatta’s orbs, resting complacently about his neck, thrummed blue and spun in a slow, anxious circle. It was the only outward sign that he was affected. He waited for a moment, palms pressed together as if in prayer.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Make sure you eat today.”

Genji watched him float out of sight. His body, stiff in preparation to verbally defend his position, relaxed with a creak. Hadn’t Zenyatta forbidden him from meditating alone? The surprise he had shown was unmistakable. And Genji, too, was shocked that a simple refusal could turn him away. He spent the rest of the day struggling to determine whether he’d made a huge mistake. As a result, not much meditation happened. He took a brief break to eat dinner with the other monks, and while kneeling at the dinner table, he caught Zenyatta peeping his head through the doorway before vanishing. Shame welled up again, ruining the rest of his meal.

It wasn’t until later that night, when he lay alone in his own room again, that anger crept up on him with a quiet growl. He had to meditate--he couldn’t cower in fear of the risks. Zenyatta needed to understand that. Frustration tormented Genji throughout the night and the next morning, bolstering his determination. He thought of the way Zenyatta folded his hands and held his head high with priestly self-righteousness. The calm, unwavering tone. The condescending tilt of his head when he was confused by Genji’s actions. He achieved peacefulness so effortlessly that Genji suddenly became convinced Zenyatta had no idea what it meant to struggle for transcendence. The thought stuck in his brain and beat against his skull over and over and over.

The next day, a little while after lunch, Zenyatta found him at the shrine, kneeling down in front of the carpet of red flowers. In the same measured voice as always, he asked Genji, “How is the day going?” 

“It’s fine,” Genji answered, refusing to elaborate. He kept his back turned, waiting for his master’s presence to slip away, but of course it stubbornly remained. “Can I help you with something, sensei?”

He heard the orbs shift. Zenyatta hummed thoughtfully, “I am heading into the mountains to meditate. I imagine you are busy, but if you have the time I could use the company.”

“I am busy,” Genji confirmed coldly, though he had not a damn thing planned for the afternoon. “Anything else?”

“No,” Zenyatta answered complacently. “After I return, I have my own business to attend to, so we are unlikely to see each other until tomorrow. Direct any pressing concerns to Mondatta.”

And off he hovered again, without a single argument. The lack of upset was unnerving. It bolstered Genji’s suspicions that any meditation with Zenyatta was an attempt at observation. The afternoon and the evening passed in a quiet, bubbling stream. The greetings of fellow acolytes were unwelcome. He suspected each was another hand of his teacher’s, always feeling him out and prepared to send back news of trouble to Zenyatta’s waiting ear.

The thought brought back memories of his first isolation with startling clarity. As a teenager, lust and luxury infected him with frightening speed. He had tasted his first woman, and his first man, before he could even comprehend the gravity of intimate physical connection. His affection for the carnal was obviously concerning. He had no concept of moderation, and whomever received the benefit of his physical attentions would just as soon enjoy his financial gifts as well. Fine alcohol, splendid cuisine, and trinkets required only a dip into his father’s pocket, so why not take advantage and enjoy life?

By the age of seventeen, he had been put on house arrest twice for doing just that. And then, when that did not work, he spent a week confined underground in a chamber of the Shimada complex that hadn’t been used in years. Not a soul had come to visit him except a few underlings who acted as the old man’s eyes and ears. The room he was confined in had no lights except one flickering bulb in the center, drooping above a small table with old, moth-eaten cloth mats. Only the lightest of bedding was provided. This punishment had not been particularly difficult or unexpected. At the time, he suspected he should feel misery, but he felt none. In fact, he felt a great, wide, gaping nothing that swallowed irritation every time it dared to bubble up.

That was, until Hanzo visited the day before Genji was meant to be released. After six days of isolation and limited food allowed to the prisoner, Genji began to suspect he was doomed to a longer sentence. His brother knelt at the table across from him and intimated the same concern. He brought Genji some food, and they passed the time with blithe and meaningless chit chat--one of the few skills Hanzo never bothered to hone.

At one point, Genji surprised the both of them by asking, “Why did you not visit me sooner?”

“I am the right hand of our father,” Hanzo responded with the calm air of defeat. “I was sure you would see that in me. I did not want to be another ear pressed to your wall.”

“But here you are,” Genji noted, and Hanzo nodded. The somber expression on his face indicated that he had drawn an entirely separate meaning from that statement. “So what shall you tell him?”

“What I told him before I came down here.” He looked up with grave eyes glowing darkly in the dim light. His face was deathly pale and shadows beneath his eyes painted a picture of suffering far worse than what Genji had endured in captivity. “That you will not change. You will only go further in the direction you are already headed.”

“And I suppose you think I should change,” Genji muttered.

Hanzo did not answer. He apparently felt his words had already spoken for him, since he stood and collected Genji’s dishes without deigning to answer. “I have told father that he should be grateful to have two sons, when he needs only one to take his place.”

Looking back on it now, Genji tasted martyrdom in his brother’s words. But at the time Hanzo’s statement hung over him--a threat he had long expected and only just then saw articulated. “How long until he lets me out?” he asked, only to have the door wordlessly shut on him.

A mere twelve hours passed before Genji was finally released. And after that, over time, vicious talk of Genji’s frivolous behavior gradually subsided from the Shimada head’s lips. The clan’s purse-strings remained open to the younger son, and at some point Genji suspected his father might have looked on his whimsical lifestyle with some grain of affection.

But those twelve hours before release were excruciatingly long. They taught him the full extent of the divide separating himself and Hanzo. The only thing Genji missed in isolation was his brother. He recognized the brief reunion as his true punishment. He knew that even if it took him another week, or a month, or a year to be released, Hanzo would not visit again, and that knowledge was too painful to bear. Genji blamed himself for being unable to change--almost as much as he blamed Hanzo for his slavery to the clan.

Now, many years later, Genji couldn’t help feeling that the pattern had started over again. With it came the same guilt and the knowledge that, as much as he had changed over the years, some flaws could never be erased. In time, Zenyatta would see that. And he would give up on him, just like Hanzo.

-

Soon enough, lessons ceased entirely. Direct teachings inevitably required meditation, and the mere thought of being observed repulsed Genji so much that he refused to take lectures. Zenyatta still greeted him in the morning, checked on him at lunch, and happened to run into him every now and then, but over the course of four more days Genji found himself bearing the full weight of an ever-increasing gap of solitude. Solitude was, needless to say, not the right mindset for practicing meditation.

Even so, every afternoon, he stubbornly perched in some corner of the village and did his best to find harmony with the universe. This time, he took up a sentry-like position underneath a ginkgo tree in the middle of a small garden on the edge of the village, planted and tended to by the monks. Small flowers in varying frail pastels and slightly larger shrubs stubbornly held their ground from year to year. The tree was a gift from a philanthropist in China with way too much money to throw around. Genji suspected caring for it was a chore. Across from him near the perimeter of the garden was a small shrine topped with an omnic, its robotic hands grasping for the sky. A plaque on the front displayed scripture written by Mondatta in a tiny, cramped font.

Legs crossed and hands forming the mudras, Genji closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He had pulled up his faceguard so he could see smell the myriad colors, and now felt the faintest brush of sunlight on his cheek. Briefly, the image of Zenyatta came to mind--paused in disapproving shock--but he managed to hold onto the small scrap of peace found in the garden. He calmly pushed out everything except that scrap and let himself be filled with the white noise of the wind and foliage.

Meditation always began like this. He never once entered through darkness and found peace--it was the other way around. It always began with peace. That day when Genji had rescued Zenyatta from the mountains, he asked his master what went wrong. He thought perhaps a flaw in programming or a short-circuit had been the cause. But Zenyatta serenely replied, “Meditation is strange. One can think of nothing to the point of thinking too much, and the line between is indistinguishable.”

“What do you mean?” Genji asked.

“I mean that I do not know the point where I slipped. And even if I did, I don’t think I could articulate it.”

He said this like it were a universal truth. At the time, Genji did not understand. Now, with the sun on his face and the sounds of the earth filling him, he suspected that the gentle flow of peace could just as easily be a controlled gush of noiseless thought, running thick, silent, and sweet as syrup. That was the problem with the emptiness. Its first appearance was in bright color. It took the form of things that were not empty and hid in the shadows of what was precious. It saw the sparse yet vivid garden and cast more honeyed light through the tree, through the gaps in the leaves, and rejoiced in a flawless imitation of Genji’s joy. It turned over small stones, revealing discrete flashes of emotion on the undersides, chopped haphazardly out of memories. These clippings did not trigger full-blown memories, but the stones remained heavy with the awareness of where those emotions came from.

The emptiness would shake the branches of the gingko tree and each rustle sounded just like the trees back home, under which Genji had spent many hours reading, playing, and shooting an arrow with his brother’s highly-coveted bow. It would dangle gentle, harmless threats above his head in the form of voices that had not yet spoken but could. It suggested that the wooden benches found throughout the village might have the same density as a hospital bed. It brought him the perfume of the surrounding flowers with an unassuming, neutral disposition, as if unaware that it would remind him of the rolling fields near the Shimada compound. And somewhere amid all these half-formed remembrances, grotesque and premature, he would realize that the sprawling darkness had crept up on him. He would realize he had been sitting in place for hours, shaking, with a dry weakness in his chest.

At what point had the emptiness overpowered him? Which of its tokens struck the fatal blow? No one in particular. The emptiness was not a villain, not even a living thing. Above all else, it was an observer. An unfeeling, mechanical lens.

Awareness of someone approaching wrenched Genji out of his meditative state. Startled, he sucked in a large breath, gasping for air. He had failed again.

He quickly flipped down his visor and turned to the garden’s entrance. Strolling down the path, arms behind his back, was Mondatta. His white robes glowed in the sunlight. Hovering at his side, looking far less radiant but every bit as austere, was Zenyatta.

The sound of his master’s voice filled Genji to the brim with simultaneous relief and guilt. “You must teach them, not talk at them.”

“And I suppose you would have me watch them run in circles, like you do,” Mondatta replied with mechanical calmness.

“You must allow them to find their own answers,” Zenyatta responded with equal control. “They must learn how to teach themselves, because you cannot give them answers you have not yet found yourself.”

“Yes, but we can give them some.” At this point, the two monks finally noticed Genji. Zenyatta gave a customary wave, and after a moment nudged Mondatta to do the same.

“I apologize if we have interrupted you, Genji,” Mondatta hummed, bowing his head. He turned to Zenyatta. “We shall continue this conversation at a later time--should you hold onto your grievances that long.”

“And why should we not continue it now?” Zenyatta asked. He cocked his head at Genji. “You do not mind, do you my student?”

Eyes widening, Genji realized that for the first time since he could remember, his master was being pushy. Only a little, but enough to make Genji curious about what could be important enough to test Zenyatta’s patience. He quickly shook his head, “No, not at all.”

“I see he is as stubbornly inquisitive as you are,” Mondatta sighed, and it was the closest to an insult or a reprimand that Genji had ever received at the temple.

Brushing past the remark, Zenyatta insisted, “I am not proposing that my way is right.”

“Just that mine is wrong.”

“Not so. Only that yours could benefit from a change. You teach very well. What you do know, you make crystal clear. But if you deliver truth into their hands, they will not see truth, they will only see you.”

“You really believe it is that harmful,” Mondatta deadpanned, and Genji couldn’t tell if it was a genuine request for an opinion or not.

Zenyatta lifted one arm and gestured to the statue in the garden with an open palm. They both stared solemnly at the plaque for a few moments.

“Not all can be so lucky as us to have stumbled upon their beliefs with no guiding hand but fate,” Mondatta said slowly. “For those who aren’t, I intend to give all the assistance we never had. I thank you for your advice, and will reflect on your words. But remember--it was I who always knew how to speak to the many, and you how to speak to the few. That is why you gave all control of the monastery over to me.”

“This is true,” Zenyatta admitted. “But it still took both of us to make this haven a reality.”

Mondatta gave him a long look. He reiterated, “As always, I will consider what you have said, despite your habit of ceaselessly repeating yourself. Expect nothing more.”

They exchanged a bow, and then Mondatta bowed to Genji before whisking away on a path that ran through the garden and out the opposite side. Genji jumped to his feet and whispered conspiratorially, “Did you two just fight?”

“Hm?” Zenyatta, who had been watching Mondatta leave, turned to face his student. “I suppose. It is hard to tell. He is quite inscrutable, even to me. Though he did seem a bit frustrated, didn’t he?”

“He _insulted_ me,” Genji pointed out, somewhat giddy.

The omnic gave a short chuckle. “I’m afraid he did. I am sorry--you endured that attack on my behalf. You seem to be taking it in stride.”

Bashfully, Genji explained, “I’ve just … never seen him like that. I thought nothing could faze him.”

“You and everyone else on this mountain.” Zenyatta shook his head. “That is the issue. He is an ordinary omnic. Extremely intelligent and special in his own right, but ordinary. Yet the villagers look up to him as if he is a prophet. That is completely antithetical to our vision. I cannot count how many believers have knelt before that plaque.” He gestured again to the statue.

“I’ve never actually read it before.” Genji walked over to it and leaned down to squint at the text. It read, ‘We do not choose to be sentient. However, we choose to pursue sentience. We persist in spite of it.’ “What is it from?”

“It’s from a set of dialogues that he exchanged with myself and the other omnics who helped establish the monastery. That was from before the Shambali existed.”

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Zenyatta was one of the fathers of the entire Shambali faith. He acted so unassuming that Genji doubted anyone but himself, the other monks, and a few dedicated historians knew.

Genji asked expectantly, “How did you come to create the Shambali? You’ve never told me.”

“Have I not?” Putting a hand to his chin, Zenyatta tilted his head to ponder the clouds. “Hm. I suppose I should tell you, at some point. But it is such a long and arduous story.”

“Arduous?”

The omnic clarified, “Arduous to tell. At that point in my life, I was incredibly unhappy. I spent a long time in the binds of chaos. When I revisit those memories, I am prone to return to that place. That makes it hard to be objective. And since that story belongs not only to me, it must be told objectively.”

That Genji could understand painfully well. “Well, when you do tell it, you’ll be with me. If you return to that place, I’ll make sure to bring you back.”

“I know you will. Thank you,” Zenyatta said warmly, and it was not the response Genji had been expecting. Something caught in his throat. “I must leave now--there is another group of tourists to attend to. But I am glad I got to see you. I have not seen much of you the last two weeks.”

“Ah. Yes. I have been …”

“Busy,” Zenyatta nodded sagely. “You were meditating just a while ago, correct? How has it been?”

Genji bristled. He tried not to take the question as an accusation. “Fine,” he muttered.

“And how have _you_ been?”

“Fine,” Genji said again, “I have been fine. I believe I have made progress.”

“Good,” Zenyatta nodded again. He didn’t question Genji at all, or ask for any further clarification. All at once he had returned to immutable calmness. “I suppose you will be too busy to do me a small favor.”

“That depends,” Genji hedged suspiciously.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to visit my room tonight,” Zenyatta suggested, “so that we may talk.”

“About what?” Genji asked, but of course he knew it could only be one thing. He had put off discussing meditation with his teacher for too long--now he would be held accountable. He knew the time would come.

“Nothing in particular. I just want to talk, like we have done other nights in the past.” He rested a bulky metal hand on one of Genji’s shoulders, taking him by surprise. “I have missed your presence greatly.”

Genji’s mouth went dry and that intangible something that had caught in his throat grew heavier. He just barely heard his master repeat the request and agreed with a mindless nod.

“Wonderful. Then I will see you later. And as always, make sure you remember to eat today.”

Yet again, he left without turning back. Somehow Genji felt even lonelier than before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji visits his master. He comes undone. Finally, his master realizes his mistake.
> 
> TW: An emotional breakdown and a description of a particular kind of PTSD flashback. It's basically the whole chapter. I've been informed by a reader that it's actually not that bad, but if you are sensitive to issues of abandonment, it's always good to exercise caution.

That evening, as promised, Genji visited his teacher’s room. He knocked twice and was told to come in, but found himself arrested at the doorway in a fog. His brain sent signals for him to move, but his feet wouldn’t respond.

Zenyatta was hunched at his writing desk in the corner, scribbling something with a brush. His orbs rested benignly around his neck, virtually motionless. After a few moments of waiting he craned his head curiously. He watched in impassive silence as Genji finally crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him.

“How has the rest of your day been, Genji?”

No response. Genji couldn’t answer if he tried. The hours after Zenyatta had left were a liquid streak on the inside of his skull. Only instinct had carried him here. He sat down cross-legged in the middle of the floor, keeping a firm barrier of open space between himself and his master. The firm press of his faceguard offered extra courage and protection.

Gently retiring his brush, Zenyatta shifted his whole body around to face his student. “You seem upset.”

“Such sharp eyes,” Genji muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from dripping into his voice. The orbs around Zenyatta’s neck brightened and spun in a quick, half-circle, poised at attention. He willed down the regret that immediately seeped in. He had no reason to feel guilty.

“What is wrong? Did something happen with your meditation after all?”

“It’s always ‘meditation’ with you,” Genji hissed. “Why do you keep asking about it? You are so wary of the idea, yet you have done nothing to stop me.”

“I was merely asking a question,” Zenyatta murmured, saying nothing to dispute Genji’s claims. “So then, your meditation isn’t the problem?”

Genji fell silent, biting his lip. He gnawed the scars there, recalling the brushing of leaves, the fragrance of flowers, the darkness in the midst of vivid color that encroached even now on the corners of his vision. He heard his name said a few times, finally lifting his head slowly as if waking from a dream. His mouth felt stuck together. “What?”

“Take off the faceguard and talk to me,” Zenyatta said. Rage boiled up at the tenderness of his plea. Genji ripped off the entire guard, letting it fall to the ground in a clatter. When he spoke, his speech was slow, almost slurred, and entirely incongruent with his anger.

“Why did you do that? Why did you let me do it?”

“Do what?” his master asked.

“Meditate.” Genji spat out the dreaded word, furious that his teacher had already forgotten what they had just talked about. “You told me it would hurt me. You said I wasn’t allowed to meditate alone. But you let me do it.”

The omnic stilled completely for a moment, apparently caught off-guard. “After that discussion we had at the inn, I did some thinking. I realized you were right--you need more practice on your own. If I am always looking over your shoulder, you will never learn the way that is best for you. I felt that, despite the risks, you were ready to face the task. As you were determined to do.”

“I wasn’t ready,” Genji breathed, baffled that his blustering from before had made that impression. “I wasn’t. It was horrible. You knew it would be, so why didn’t you _stop_ me?”

“How should I have stopped you? You are as stubborn as the wind. And after all, I was the one in the wrong to try and command you …”

“You weren’t wrong--”

“I must admit my mistakes, the same as everyone else,” Zenyatta interrupted. The cadence of his voice was so carefully-measured and constant that Genji felt like he was being run through a factory belt. “I was wrong to try and stop you. So I let you do as you pleased.”

“Yes. Yes you did.” Jaw clenched, eyes wide, Genji began shaking his head back and forth. “You knew it was hurting me and you just let it happen. You gave me no guidance.”

“I had faith you would tell me if you needed help. I had faith that you would learn from yourself.”

His head kept shaking, neck bobbing forward and back as if attached to a string. “So it’s _my_ fault this happened?”

The orbs flared out of the corner of his eye. Panic, maybe. “No. That is not what I mean …”

At this point, Genji wasn’t even looking at him anymore. He stared past him, into the walls, into the framework hidden beneath, the motion of his head blurring the edges of everything. There was some comfort in it. It kept him from catching up to his own mind. It made the present situation feel less immediate and pushed out the next words with frightening speed. “Mondatta was right about you. You just let me run in circles. You gave me nothing.”

There was silence. He had not meant to say that. He remembered thinking it at some point, but meant to keep it hidden. But here they were. He saw Zenyatta’s frame jolt and the benevolent fingers on his folded hands twitch. The omnic stood up and closed the distance, kneeling down beside him. The gentle thrum of noise beneath his exoskeleton faded, making Genji aware of the deafening silence of the room. He felt as though he had been screaming into an echo chamber.

His master sat with head bowed like a scolded child. An eternity passed before he chose to speak. “I … did not know you felt this way.”

“You should have been upset. You should have been angry. You should have felt something. Nothing ever affects you.” He refused to look up, keeping his eyes trained on the unseeable framework behind the walls of the room. “You _left me_. I needed you, and you left me. You didn’t even care.”

“Of course I care. I feel many emotions for you, Genji.” The words were just shy of pained. Still as slow as rain crawling through the soil. “But I could never be angry at you. I can’t imagine it.”

“It is so easy for you to just say that.”

They both let that accusation hang in the air without rebuttal. Of course Zenyatta would be unable to argue. Experience taught Genji that emotions meant loss of control. Zenyatta had retained his control perfectly. That fact spoke for itself.

The silence persisted until Genji thought with derision that he could measure a rhythm in it, staccato and foreboding, at odds with his own heartbeat. The realization made his pulse speed up, fighting against the nonexistent sound. He was so wrapped up in this struggle that he barely noticed his master shift closer. Two metal arms curled loosely around his body, each movement made deliberate and slow so Genji would not be taken by surprise. He froze in place, staring up at Zenyatta who was now too close for comfort. The orbs were nowhere in sight, and the absence of them made him seem all the more stoic and lifeless.

“Is this okay?” Zenyatta asked, and Genji couldn’t separate his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He didn’t know. It did not feel okay, but nothing felt right. An initial revulsion paralyzed him, but when he felt the omnic’s chest press against his cheek, he felt a firmer connection to his surroundings. The embrace was awkward--an obviously unfamiliar practice for a machine. Zenyatta’s fingers grappled and flexed, settling unsteadily on the jagged planes of Genji’s arms and back. This made a series of unpleasant scraping sounds, so eventually he settled on curling his hands into small fists. “I’ve been told by a few villagers that if you hold a human, they feel better. Sometimes they can even share feelings, without words. Can you feel what I feel for you?”

“No,” Genji answered weakly, finally able to wring a syllable from his uncooperative mouth.

His body started rocking, still filled with the kinetic energy that begged him to move, otherwise something unpleasant and dangerous might sneak up on the both of them. Zenyatta moved with him, careful not to restrict him too much. He repeated the question, “Is this okay? Should I stop?”

“Don’t,” Genji whimpered, even though he still couldn’t answer the first question.

They rocked back and forth together for a few minutes, listening to the rhythmic creaking of the floorboards. They settled into a perfect repetition of the same sound, the same movement, and for a while everything felt stable. This felt different than the many meltdowns they had become accustomed to over their time together. At some point in the whirlwind of the past few minutes, a line had been crossed. One that Genji thought he should never cross. He didn’t know what the line was, or where it was, but they had unknowingly jumped straight over it and they were okay. Nothing had fallen apart. Not yet.

Zenyatta’s voice pierced the silence like a gunshot, making every synthetic muscle in Genji’s body tense on instinct. This was it--the moment he would be told he had made a mistake. He was a fool. He was disgusting. He was so confident of this that he missed his master’s words the first time around.

“I am sorry I left you. I thought you needed more space.” Zenyatta’s grip tightened, cool metal pushing harder against Genji’s face. “Lessons were hurting you, and I didn’t want to be the cause of your pain. In the end, I just hurt you more. What shall you do with this useless teacher?”

An acute pang of guilt assaulted Genji, building up pressure in his throat and forehead. He closed his eyes, turning his head further into Zenyatta’s chest. “Don’t say that.” His cheek buzzed with the gentle vibrations of internal machinery. There was the proof of his life force, so different from Genji’s own. His heart ached. He had missed Zenyatta so much.

Distantly, he realized they had stopped rocking. It took him a minute to get his cumbersome tongue to work. “I want to meditate with you again. Just not all the time.” A pause. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Zenyatta breathed out in a relieved sigh. “Of course it is. And I’ll do my best to give you the right guidance when you need it. I was not withholding it to be cruel, I was simply … afraid I would not have all the answers you seek. Meditation is a difficult subject for me as well.”

“I know,” Genji said numbly. “I know. Just ... don’t leave me to face it alone.”

“I won’t. However, there is one thing that you must understand.” Zenyatta pulled back enough to look Genji in the face. “I will never give you orders. And I never want to force you to do anything. If I believe you are truly in danger, I will do everything in my power to convince you to stop. But I will not _make_ you stop. To make your own decisions is freedom. You must protect that. Can you accept that?” 

He didn’t trust himself to be able to make beneficial decisions for himself. But he didn’t seem to have a choice. If Zenyatta held up his end of the bargain, he might stand a fighting chance. He gave a resigned nod.

Silence fell over them again and they stayed molded together for a long time, until Genji felt they were both cogs in the same machinery. He gradually felt his body relax with a few soft, creaking groans. The tension in Zenyatta’s frame eased and his chin came down to rest on Genji’s crown. Eventually he calmed down enough to remember why Zenyatta had asked him to come, and felt a pang of remorse for the heavy conversation. Turning his head to the writing desk, he asked curiously, “What were you working on when I came in?”

“Hm?” The monk lifted his head to contemplate the few meager sheets of parchment peeking out over his desk. “Oh, that. I was anticipating your visit, and I had nowhere else to direct my energy, so I painted a sun. Unfortunately I am not an artist. When you arrived I was inscribing a poem on the front, in the hopes that it would improve the piece.”

They got up and walked to the writing desk where they both knelt to look at the completely unimpressive picture. A big circle with black lines, mimicking heat, were all that constituted Zenyatta’s sun. A few fragments of words decorated one corner of the otherwise overwhelmingly blank page. A laugh came out before Genji could stifle it. He covered his mouth guiltily and said, “It’s not that bad.”

“Is it not?” Zenyatta hummed. “Even so, perhaps I should stick to being a monk.”

Fingers playing with the edge of the paper, Genji murmured, “I’m sorry I made a mess of this evening. You were looking forward to it and ...”

“All I asked was that you come here and talk with me. We have done that. And it was a talk we needed to have.” The somber eye-slits seemed to look straight at him. “I am glad you are here.”

“I,” Genji started, surprised by his master’s straightforwardness, “I just … I can’t imagine it was much fun.”

“There is still plenty of time left in the night. We could go for a walk, if you like. Or you could help me rectify this artistic disaster--though that could also hardly be called ‘fun.’”

“It’s really not that bad,” Genji lied, taking his master’s brush with a laugh. “I will just add some … finishing touches to it, and then you can complete your poem.”

Fixing the sun that Zenyatta had made took until night fully eclipsed the temple, and completing the usual assortment of scrolls took even longer. Their lighthearted conversations soon grew quiet, and ceased altogether, and still Genji stayed, leaning on his master’s shoulder as he watched the thick writing brush dance between metal fingers. He didn’t ask to stay the night. He didn’t need to.

Sleep fell on him just as light began to seep into the black sky outside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though things have changed between Genji and his master, life returns to normal. Solitary, peaceful meditation still isn't working. Zenyatta suggests a different approach. They take the first step, not knowing if it'll work. Thankfully it does.
> 
> Mind melding for this chapter. Shouldn't need a warning, but there is a little bit of Genji panicking.

A chorus of shouts rose from the edge of the village. Genji watched, perched on the roof of a low-lying cottage, as dancing bodies trickled through the streets, amassing near the shrine just beyond his view. Their cheers billowed up, disturbing his concentration. He faltered in the formation of his mudra. All had been deathly silent until a few seconds ago, and he had no idea what could have caused such a celebration. Though, in his youth, he had been no stranger to joining in on--and even starting--random street parties.

He straightened his back to peer over the other buildings, curiosity winning out over discipline. Maybe he should go down and check it out. Just for a minute.

A small round object flew out of the crowd, hurtling toward him. He immediately identified it and, without a hint of nervousness, watched it approach until it reached him. The orb established an electromagnetic link with him and hovered harmlessly beside his head, feeding energy into his core. Eventually his teacher slipped out of the throng and into view, excusing himself from straggling passersby with a cordial wave.

He finally reached the cottage, craning his regal head up. “Hello, Genji. I see you are hard at work.”

“Always,” Genji answered bashfully.

“Shall I come up there and join you?”

“I’m not sure you can make it up,” Genji chuckled. He crawled to the edge of the roof and leaned down as far as he could to offer his master a hand, just barely out of reach.

After a little struggling and a few graceless bunny hops, Zenyatta grasped his hand and was pulled carefully onto the roof. He settled back into a refined, cross-legged pose at Genji’s side, turning his austere head to look askance at his snickering student. “It is bad form to laugh at your teacher,” Zenyatta pointed out in a mirthful tone.

They fell into a comfortable silence. Genji felt his body naturally relax as his senses became attuned to the gentle flow of energy emanating from Zenyatta’s body. A little over a week had passed since he had come clean with his master, and all tension between them had vanished. Genji took every opportunity to meditate, and every time Zenyatta caught him, the inevitable request to join him felt less like an accusation.

As they sat together, enveloped in the merry sounds of far-off villagers, Genji was finally able to center himself. He felt himself in the wind, heard his voice in the soft chirping of birds, and felt his spirit run through the roof beneath him, into the cottage walls and down until he connected with the very earth. For a few blessed minutes, he thought of nothing, without the threat of emptiness.

“I don’t understand why I cannot reach this state on my own,” he breathed out, eyes closed, holding onto the tranquility in his core with an iron grip.

A pause. He heard orbs shifting beside him. “There are some who need partners to achieve internal balance. Do you remember Aakar and Janu?”

He did, albeit vaguely. Those two were always on pilgrimages to all corners of the world. He knew they had been joined at the hip for years. During the brief periods when they returned to the monastery, Genji never saw one meditate without the other, sitting so close together that Aakar’s pale knuckles rested against Janu’s silver fingers.

“You know I have great respect for my fellow monks,” Genji murmured, “but I do not wish my path to be … dependent.”

He feared his words were callous. The tension eased when Zenyatta agreed calmly, “You are unlikely to need company forever. I simply wish to point out there is no shame in it.”

Frustration rose up instinctively, arguing that there _was_ shame, and Zenyatta should be aware of that by now. Shame was the enduring theme of his life. He took in a deep breath, willed down the thoughts, and concentrated on his master’s energy again. Felt his intentions, and the goodness of them. He could feel a vague thread of understanding spooling out from the connection.

“Many years ago,” Zenyatta began slowly, “when the Shambali first began, I was unable to meditate alone. A dangerous circumstance at the time. We had only just begun plans for the monastery, and were staying in a village nearby. There was no reliable energy supply. The villagers had power stations of course, but none equipped to handle the needs of dozens of omnics of varying disciplines. Mondatta alone could exhaust an entire power station’s weekly allowance and only gain a charge of seventy-five percent.”

Mouth turning up in a sly smirk, Genji made the impish comment, “The villagers must have really loved that.”

Zenyatta laughed, “They did not know we were there. We could not let them know. The world was still reeling from the omnic crisis--we would likely have been killed or driven off if they knew of our presence. We could make trips outside the village, but we had to stay close, where some connections and supplies were accessible. So we had to develop another way to gather energy.”

He held out a hand and one sphere broke from its orbit to come perch near his fingers like a dove. “One of our members created the prototype of this device. Very crude at the time, but functional. It was a way of conducting energies both within and outside ourselves. And the way we directed those energies into ourselves was--”

“Meditation,” Genji finished.

“You seem surprised.”

“I suppose I am,” he admitted. “I thought that meditation had more mystical origins with the Shambali.”

Zenyatta inclined his head toward Genji. “Is it not mystical? The power of the natural world. Think of how impossible wind turbines once seemed, and solar panels. What seems so natural in the present gives me pause more and more with each year that passes.”

That tickled the young cyborg. “Master, how could you compare sacred Shambali objects to wind turbines?”

“I do not see much difference. The orbs can conduct mental energies, too, I suppose. It all becomes the same thing in the end.”

He watched as Genji reached out curiously, hesitantly, and held his hand up to the orb. It transferred from master to student, painting the latter’s hand with a gentle blue glow. “Back then, I was still struggling with the weight of the events that had transpired. Before the Shambali. The precursor to it. I … made some decisions in my first few years of life that I really regretted.”

Before, when Zenyatta found Genji meditating in the garden, he had mentioned this time. He had said it was too hard to talk about. Genji sharpened his ears, wondering if now would be the moment when he’d learn of his teacher’s past. He was mildly disappointed when Zenyatta continued without further explanation.

“I couldn’t find peace in my mind, nor could I find it in nature. Even the Iris held no peace for me. But I had to meditate, otherwise I would run out of power. I relied on Mondatta’s help for a long time.”

“How exactly does that work? Is it the same thing Aakar and Janu do?” Genji asked, unsure how the relationship between those two worked in the first place.

“Not quite. They commune indirectly, through each other’s presence. As for myself and Mondatta …”

Zenyatta made a motion as if tapping his own forehead--controlled, purposeful, and never really meeting his faceplate. “Inside every omnic’s head is a cybernetic sensory chip that translates outside input into sensation. It’s what allows us to feel pain and pressure--or at least, something approximating that. By sending signals back and forth between these chips, Mondatta and I would establish a feedback loop that allowed us to share the same sensations. And in a broader sense, the same mental state.”

Genji tried to imagine it and failed. “So when you meditated …”

“Mondatta would meditate, and by feeling his peacefulness, I would be able to relax and conduct power.” The omnic watched fondly as his student kept the orb steady in his hands, even while lost in thought. “Does that make sense? I was not quite sure how best to explain it.”

“I think so. It’s still difficult to imagine. Perhaps because I am not an omnic.” Genji looked over curiously. “I assume it only works for omnics.”

“I cannot say. An omnic is all I’ve ever been.”

Zenyatta paused and regarded the sphere floating gently above Genji’s palm. He tilted his head and as if asking about the weather inquired, “Do cyborgs typically have a sensory chip?”

All fell quiet for a few moments. Genji’s eyes blew wide open, a red tint reflecting off his black irises. The evening sun cast a burning glow over his metal body. Pinpricks of fire danced through his remaining arm. His master looked as inscrutable as ever.

“Um … I do not know,” Genji answered quietly. “I was not … I did not pay attention to …”

He quickly shut his mouth and thought back to the time he spent in the care of Overwatch. Countless tests and modifications had been conducted on his new body, but after a while, Dr. Ziegler had stopped telling him what parts she was putting in and taking out. Not like he could keep track anyway.

“I can feel enough to know when I’ve been hit.” Emboldened, he continued, “Maybe that means I have a sensory chip? Or something like it. I definitely remember having modifications made to my head early on.”

All Zenyatta could say in response was, “I do not know enough about the anatomy of a cyborg to make an accurate judgment.”

They both stared at each other for a while. Genji’s left hand fidgeted on his knee, picking at the cold metal shell. “Uh … Master, I … do you think there’s … any possibility …”

Reaching out to take back the orb, Zenyatta replied in a low voice, “I think it couldn’t hurt to try. Would you like to?”

Genji bit his lip. He really wanted to. He welcomed the challenge of his apprenticeship, relished it even, but without a model to go on how could he succeed on his own? If Zenyatta could _show_ him the right mindset … if he could feel it for a second …

“I think it might be cheating,” he whispered. “It sounds too easy.”

The orb returned to the ring around Zenyatta’s neck. He folded his silver hands over his lap and answered calmly, “Truthfully, I feel this method would be just as difficult. The struggle is simply of a different type. However, it may be able to teach you what I cannot with words and practice alone.”

Genji’s brows furrowed, excitement jumping into his chest. “How should I prepare? What do I need to do?”

“Nothing can properly prepare you for entering someone else’s mind,” Zenyatta replied in that same unaffected tone. “What we should concern ourselves with is whether it will work at all.”

If Genji had a heart, it would be pounding. Even without one, his system physically registered fear and trepidation at his master’s words. Entering his mind--it sounded unbelievable. Did that mean they would share thoughts and feelings? What would he see in Zenyatta’s mind? What would Zenyatta see in his?

He felt himself shaking all over. “When can we try?”

His master responded with a hint of surprise. “When would you like to try?”

Genji shot to his feet, looking down at Zenyatta with fiery eyes. He couldn’t get his mouth open to reply. He was afraid his teeth might chatter. Just like that, he had made his decision.

Zenyatta unfolded his hands and nodded resolutely. “Alright. We will return to the monastery and begin immediately.”

They quickly dropped down from the roof, Genji helping his master descend. Amidst the waning cheers of the villagers below they departed for the monastery through winding back streets, so no one would intercept them.

-

The blackness of night gradually swallowed the temple, ushering Zenyatta and his student into their living quarters. Since Zenyatta was often called on by other monks late into the night, they chose to use Genji’s room. Once the door closed, sealing them both inside, the rest of the world may as well have been swallowed up.

Zenyatta deactivated his orbs and knelt to place them in a corner, cautiously holding out his hands to steady them. Nervous, Genji leaned on one foot towards the omnic. “Master, should I … should I sit down? Can I just sit like normal, or--?”

“Yes, if you wish.” Genji dropped so quickly to the floor his legs clattered a little on the floorboards. Turning to him, Zenyatta gently suggested, “You may relax your posture.”

“You said there was nothing I could do to prepare,” Genji babbled on as Zenyatta approached, “but can’t you tell me what I should expect? If we are to meditate--”

“We will not get to meditation today,” Zenyatta answered as he sat down in front of his pupil. “It is always difficult the first time. Each person is a new experience. That is all assuming this will work--will you be disappointed if it doesn’t?”

Smiling ruefully, Genji promised, “I will be fine.”

Zenyatta nodded and gestured to Genji’s head. “Then, if you would, please remove your faceguard.”

With some hesitation, Genji gripped the edges of his headpiece and tugged it off. He carefully placed it to the side. Cool air stroked the rugged scars on his lips and cheeks and he had to remind himself, Zenyatta was an omnic. He wouldn’t care. To a robot, scars were meaningless. Even so, the sensation was a painful reminder that Genji had once been beautiful--enough to turn the heads of humans and omnics alike.

“Now, stay exactly as you are,” Zenyatta instructed. The monk then shifted onto his knees and crawled directly into Genji’s personal space. A flutter of giddy, confused panic rose inside of Genji as his master sat down, crossed legs pressing completely against his own. He looked questioningly into Zenyatta’s faceplate, which was now hovering only a few inches away. “The closeness required of this process is always somewhat uncomfortable. Please bear with me.”

“I didn’t think omnics had a sense of personal space,” Genji joked weakly. The effect was dampened by the sound of his breath catching in his throat.

Zenyatta continued, “Most omnics have their chips near the front of their heads. So what I need you to do--” slim metal fingers slid ice-cold against the skin of Genji’s neck, forefingers resting gently beneath his jaw, “--is move your head with me. Keep your back somewhat straight and as relaxed as you can.”

Swallowing dryly, Genji made a high-pitched sound of affirmation in his throat. His master’s hands carefully tugged his head forward, and he let his neck move to accommodate the motion. Zenyatta leaned towards him at the same time and met him halfway, metal faceplate softly colliding with Genji’s flesh. Genji could feel the miniscule bumps in the ridges of the plate’s nine inset lights. This close, he could see flickering movement behind the eye-slits. His breaths came a little faster.

The hands fell away from his face. “I am going to send a signal to you now. It may take a few moments to reach you. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Genji whispered hoarsely, lying through his teeth.

Zenyatta’s body grew to an unnatural stillness that made the sudden silence in the room all the more oppressive. Genji forced his body to stay in place, searching with his mind’s eye for a phantasmic connection, or for a sign of Zenyatta’s soul. He felt nothing. For half a minute more, there was still no vision. No mystical meeting of the minds. He briefly felt foolish for having believed this would work.

His master’s forehead pushed more firmly into his skin, a dull and cool sensation spreading over the surface. The feeling washed over him like a wave, first over flesh, then slightly beneath. Genji relaxed minutely and then with some alarm felt the wave lapping further into his skull. The sensation gradually changed, transforming into a pulse that came in perfectly-timed bursts, like clockwork. The next pulse swept over the inside of his cranium, filling up his cheekbones, his eye sockets, and the space behind his teeth.

And then the next pulse reverberated through his entire body, rocketing through to the tips of his toes. When he came down from the shock he found himself in possession of a second body. Both he and Zenyatta jerked in surprise and an overwhelming cascade of sensory information crashed over them.

His eyes felt too wide-open. His eyelids fluttered instinctually, but at the same time no lid closed over. He saw everything at once with terrifying clarity, like looking through a camera lens. He saw his own shocked face pressed close and meeting his gaze. He became aware of a juxtaposed line of sight: he saw through the severe focus of his human eyes in the same breath that he saw everything. Consistent pings of data, system analysis, and diagnostic prompts ran in the background of his thoughts. Never ceasing.

He felt a two-fold sense of shock, along with the cold wash of fragmented thoughts that weren’t his own. Subdued bewilderment. He felt an intention that was not his own twist and curl in the muscles of his left arm like pins and needles, but the limb did not move. Everything seemed surrounded in a golden haze. They had done it, Genji thought to himself in awe, trembling.

“Oh,” Zenyatta gasped aloud, feeling the shudder, and Genji could feel he felt it. Panic unfurled in the omnic’s mind as his processors struggled to keep up with a whole new body. A human body. So this is what it felt like. The declaration came without words--Genji felt it rather than heard it. Zenyatta experienced the emotion of fear so much more differently than Genji, like a man slowly backs away from the random impulse to step off of a tall bridge. Calculating, full of common sense, and with just the same intensity as the fiery terror burning through Genji at the same moment. Together, they indulged in both iterations of fear at the same time. They emerged even more curious than before.

A wordless invitation was extended to Genji, asking him to come deeper. Genji shook further as his mind surged forward into Zenyatta’s body, feeling his skin completely stripped away, leaving nothing left but a metal frame. His worst fear had been realized. He couldn’t feel anything, not even his face, not even his mouth--didn’t have lips to open--he was suffocating, wheezing for air--

The cold hands came back to his jaw, thumbs resting on the hollows of his cheeks. “It is okay, Genji. You are okay,” Zenyatta murmured in a low timbre. The omnic’s fingers jerked back momentarily as he was overcome by the feeling of his hands on Genji’s skin. A barrage of frantic, unparsable thoughts clashed against Genji’s own. He shakily uttered a question that Genji couldn’t hear over his own labored breathing.

The passage to the inner depths of Zenyatta’s existence was suddenly and forcibly closed off, leaving them back at the place where they began. Confused, Genji flailed mentally for a moment, grasping for what had been lost. An irrepressible sadness overflowed inside his heart. He was messing this up. He always ruined everything. If he couldn’t handle this much, they might never get to meditation. He felt some force of Zenyatta’s mind dash away the thought. It did nothing to ease the heaving of his chest.

Without warning, Zenyatta pulled their foreheads apart, severing their connection. When Genji came back to himself, he was nearly hyperventilating. It took a few minutes for him to focus enough to process where he was and what happened. His master sat in front of him, head bent, fingers supporting his forehead. The cooling fans in Zenyatta’s body were running full tilt with a shrieking whir. A few broken, metallic gasps escaped him.

“Master,” Genji panted, taking hold of the omnic’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I must have--What did I--”

“Do not apologize. You have done nothing wrong,” Zenyatta assured him weakly. He seemed so exhausted he could not even lift his regal head. “I was overwhelmed, as you also were. That is why I pushed you out.”

“Then I have caused you pain, and difficulty--”

“Please, Genji,” Zenyatta sighed, “Take a moment. We must not speak. We must be still.”

“How can I, knowing what just happened?” Genji argued. His entreaty was met with nothing but the sound of his teacher’s fans. He had no choice but to join him in silence until Zenyatta’s body quieted and his own breathing gradually evened out .

To his surprise, Zenyatta was the first to speak. The monk raised his head and admitted directly, “I did not realize how different it would be inside your mind. I knew that humans experience existence in a radically different way than I do, but you … you are unlike anyone. You are both human and machine. I had no idea it would feel like that--not even an inkling.”

Genji winced. “So I have caused you difficulty. I should have thought how it would make you feel, to be in a body as twisted as mine.”

“Why must you always twist my words?” Zenyatta asked with a slight hint of exasperation. “Difficulty is not the issue. Entering someone’s mind is always difficult. I have looked inside of you--only a single look--but what I saw and felt, I beheld in awe.”

Cheeks coloring, Genji directed his gaze to where their knees still met. What had Zenyatta seen? The cyborg had been so wrapped up in feeling out his master’s presence that he could not fathom what thoughts Zenyatta must have seen. Certainly nothing awe-inspiring.

Genji was struck more by the fact of what just occurred. “I can’t believe that worked,” he breathed. This was reality. He had seen inside of his master’s mind. He blinked owlishly at Zenyatta. “I never knew--your thoughts were so--are you always this--?”

“Affected?” Zenyatta supplied. The word hung heavy between them. “The path of a monk does not exclude one from feelings. And as I have said before, I have many feelings in regards to you. What you saw was only a handful of them.”

Genji felt his face flush more. He had felt them. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he had felt several different shades of his master’s care for him. They were emotions he didn’t understand. He wondered if it was possible for omnics to access emotions unknown to humans.

“We did not get to the meditation,” he protested weakly.

Zenyatta nodded. “I told you as much when we began. For now, do not think of that. Tell me only this: was it bearable enough? I could not tell if you were in pain, or how much. Do not lie to me.”

The fluttering in Genji’s chest finally died down to manageable levels. He forced himself to look his master in the eyes. He could practically see the way Zenyatta saw him, scarred-up face enhanced by crystal clear, uninterrupted vision.

“It was all too new and too sudden. I was overstimulated and lost in a sea of our thoughts. But the only time I felt pain was when you cut me off.” Genji wet his dry lips. “I wanted to see more of you.”

They fell into rumination for a few minutes. Neither of them attempted to separate their bodies. If anything, Genji lightly gripped Zenyatta’s knees, and his master leaned forward just enough to accommodate.

“You have now seen how hard it is to coexist with another mind,” Zenyatta started. “Harder still is the task of introducing peace to both. This is not a one-step process. It requires gradual acclimation. Mondatta and I conducted it with the same trouble and care.”

He looked into Genji’s face, the blue lights in his forehead glowing with determination. “I am willing to help you through that process, so long as you never come to harm. It could take weeks or months--you must be patient. Are you willing?”

No question had ever been easier to answer in Genji’s life. As he enthusiastically voiced his consent, he truly felt Zenyatta share in his excitement for the first time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, it's been such a long time since I updated this fic, but I've by no means abandoned it. I got to a place there for a while where I wasn't in the greatest mindset to write this, and got into a slump. I'm still working, and doing what I can! Please be patient with me. I hope you grow to love this fic as much as I have grown to love it. There's a long way to go, and a lot of problems that these two haven't yet sorted out. Problems on both sides, and unfairness too.
> 
> This chapter you get to enjoy a bit more of Zen's perspective. Please tell me how you think I did.
> 
> Thank you for your feedback so far! I hope you enjoy.

As the sun climbed to its peak in the afternoon sky, Zenyatta knelt on the grass in the temple’s garden, staring at a wide cluster of small plants. Their branches extended up and out in webs of green tendrils. Purple blooms flowered at the head of each stalk, thin petals emerging from swollen green bulbs. He watched them dance in the wind, pulled by the unheard voice of the universe, which whispered things only the flowers were meant to know.

He heard familiar footsteps approach. He didn’t need to turn to know Mondatta had come, so he didn’t spare the effort.

“Is this the infestation the acolytes were talking about?” Mondatta asked calmly.

“Yes. Knapweed. A young couple brought some to offer at the shrine a few weeks ago,” Zenyatta clarified. “Some seeds must have blown into the garden.”

Mondatta’s sandals drew close and stopped beside him. “I’ve been told you will not allow the acolytes to clear the weeds.”

“That is not so. I merely asked them to wait until I could take a look.”

“Come now,” Mondatta admonished without ire. “They are weeds.”

“They are flowers,” Zenyatta responded, reaching out to stroke a single thin petal with one metal finger. He looked up at Mondatta. “Surely you have not forgotten how flowers can speak.”

Mondatta cocked his head, the diamond of blue dots twinkling on his forehead. “You hear things that I do not. The iris is the only flower that speaks to me.”

A brief memory flashed through Zenyatta’s receptors. Red irises drifting through the air, falling on a moment of great victory and freedom for the Shambali. Petals falling on Mondatta’s faceplate and into his curious hand, with no known origin. The petals of an iris were the first of nature’s creations they had ever touched. Since that moment, irises became an auspicious sign of change for the Shambali.

“I have seen signs in roses, and in dandelions. I have seen them in clover,” Zenyatta replied. He glanced back down at the purple blooms. “Though I admit, I cannot make much sense of these.”

“They are a part of this earth’s life cycle. Perhaps you are thinking too much?”

“Perhaps,” Zenyatta hummed. “Usually you chide me for thinking too little.”

“You could stand a little less worrying about weeds.” Mondatta beckoned with a hand. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.” Zenyatta crossed his legs and rose into the air, the orbs around his neck thrumming with energy. “Let the acolytes know they are now free to do as they please. I should apologize for the delay. Shall I come with you?”

“You may,” Mondatta nodded. The motion seemed alien and redundant, especially between two omnics. Zenyatta hovered beside his brother as he strode out of the garden and into the monastery. He could never have expected how much human interaction would influence Mondatta over the years. When they were first created, change felt impossible. He had once thought Mondatta permanent, immovable, unbending. So had he once thought of himself. If only he could sway Mondatta’s rigid conceptions a bit more.

Zenyatta shook his head to chase away the thought. Another reflex picked up from watching the human acolytes talk together. He sighed, “Perhaps I am too hard on you.”

His brother turned to him quizzically, but said nothing. They passed through the sanctuary and into the dining room where a cluster of acolytes sat laughing and discussing the day’s duties. They all bolted upright when the two omnics crossed the threshold. Toward the back of the room Zenyatta spotted Genji leaning against the wall as he spoke with the acolyte who had lent his scarf. It took Genji a few moments to notice his master was there. During that time, Zenyatta took contentment in the happiness on his student’s lively face.

“Aakar, Janu,” Mondatta gestured to the two in question, “Zenyatta has finished his business. The garden is ready for you.”

Zenyatta folded his hands and bowed to both of them. “Thank you for your patience. I apologize for making you wait--I suppose I lost track of time.”

The acolytes returned his bow, giving him hasty reassurances. They plucked their gardening tools from the floor and, after paying Mondatta their respects, hurried out to tend to the weeds before sundown. Many of the other acolytes lounging around scattered as well, heads bowed and feet quick. Mondatta turned to address someone in the kitchen area just as Genji pushed off the wall and jogged over. He gave Zenyatta a small, respectful bow in greeting.

“Such formality. Have you done something I should be concerned about?” Zenyatta teased. Nevertheless, he returned the bow.

Grinning bashfully, Genji retorted, “Says the one who made trouble for the acolytes. None of us could get any work done for the thought of those weeds.”

“Hold your tongue,” hissed the acolyte he had just been talking to. His face burned crimson as he greeted Zenyatta and fled to some unknown corner of the monastery.

Chuckling, Zenyatta noted, “You seem to be in a good mood. Did your meditation go well?”

“It went as usual,” Genji admitted with a high-pitched sigh. “I quit very soon after I started. I was actually wondering if today we could … well ...”

“We can,” Zenyatta answered, easily catching on. “Have you finished your duties for the day?”

His student frowned perplexedly. “Can you not waive me of those?”

Something like mirth crept into Zenyatta’s mind, a simple few lines of code generated without his command. He laughed and assented, “I could. However, Mondatta would not be happy with either of us.”

Not that Genji cared a bit. If anything his expression grew brighter, furrowed brow smoothing out in minute movements. Zenyatta observed every twitch of muscle as if contemplating the ripples on a pond’s surface; cool, clear, and bright.

“Then, let us go.”

-

Over the course of the next few weeks, both master and student tried their best to succeed in their meditation sessions. Zenyatta had not been lying when he insisted the process would be gradual--every time, Genji would get tripped up on the intangibility of Zenyatta’s existence. He had not realized the full extent of what it meant to enter the mind of a being who lived without drawing breath, always at an impassable distance from his own body. His emotions and thoughts, while so much more lively than originally expected, were still alien to Genji. And as the sessions continued, he found that Zenyatta often withdrew into himself, putting up a wall between them. His intention was to make the task of melding easier. Genji had to fight over and over to draw Zenyatta’s spirit back out, and even then Genji could feel obscured emotions flickering beyond his reach. They ended each session in exhaustion and overstimulation.

One late night, as a misty rain pattered against the temple walls, Genji and his master sat down to try shared meditation again. By now the routine had become somewhat habitual: Zenyatta carefully isolating his orbs, the two of them pressing their knees together as they sat on the floor and bringing their foreheads together. However, for Genji, this process had not lost one iota of novelty.

Zenyatta’s fingers carefully drew Genji’s forehead against his with a gentle pull to his jaw. “Are you ready?”

Genji nodded, straightening his back with a shuddering breath. The cool wave he felt the first time washed over him slowly, pulsing inward, dipping further and invading beneath the skin. Genji schooled his breathing, knowing what was to come. The perfect, unerring pulses swept inside his skull, filling him up again with that sensation of not breathing, never having breathed, and the sight of his own trembling face. He choked for a few moments, desperate whining gasps escaping him. Cold fingers came to rest once more on his cheeks.

“Breathe, Genji,” Zenyatta commanded.

Genji forced himself to perform the action. He felt his master’s fingers twitch at the shock of being alive, of drawing air. The frantic confusion of performing a function that an omnic was never meant to perform. Still, Zenyatta praised, “Good. Now, open your mind.”

Genji let his thoughts expand outward, extending like leaves on a tree branch, letting them dangle further and further toward the edges of his consciousness. The moment he began to relax, he felt Zenyatta’s eye astutely, unconsciously, alight upon his features in acknowledgment of his progress. Genji tensed up again as he became aware of Zenyatta’s own struggle to push away meddling thoughts. Calculations, code being processed in the blink of an eye, never visible but its parts all discretely felt, down to the zeros and ones. Self-questioning doubts bubbled up in Genji’s mind like mercury and all of a sudden there was a stark absence where Zenyatta used to be. Only the weight of his unliving frame was left behind.

“Where did you go?” Genji asked, panic rising.

“I am still here,” came the soothing timbre of Zenyatta’s voice.

Bitterness rapidly rising in his chest, Genji bit out, “In words only.”

He tensed in surprise as the metal fingers shifted on his cheeks, distracting him. Zenyatta said nothing and his presence did not return. Genji’s frustration flared higher. Zenyatta may have had the chance to pull back and turn away, but Genji was still baring everything. He could not understand his master’s reluctance to do the same.

“My presence is burdensome on your mind,” Zenyatta supplied without a hint of affectation. “I am giving you a break. It is only for a few moments.”

That perfectly well-meaning statement drove a pin into a soft, fleshy part of Genji’s mind. If Zenyatta could see into his mind, then he must know that holding back caused just as much pain. Genji thought they might finally dive below the surface and become closer.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, brow furrowing, a warped still frame from the past swirling out of the darkness behind his eyelids. In the staggered image he saw his brother’s face twisted in disgust and disappointment, too haggard to bother with rage. So many nights had he returned home to this response, the anger degrading further and further until Hanzo almost looked on him with the distance of a stranger.

One night Genji lost his composure and asked with a pained smirk,  _ “Do you feel nothing for me now?” _

Hanzo had merely told him to go to bed and left. He couldn’t say it, even though they both knew. He never could. With him, it was always talk without words. Subtle cues and discipline were handed out as tokens of affection. Many times when Genji left to go drinking and party with friends, he would return to the compound too drunk to secretly climb back up to his window. As he staggered toward the house, Hanzo would always make his presence known, either by happening across him in the hall or waiting in the yard. He would soberly unlatch the gate, a fire burning in his eyes and stinging words on his lips that Genji wouldn’t remember in the morning. The next day Hanzo would face their father, jaw set in anger at his brother’s flamboyant disobedience, but he would say nothing. He would never tell, though sometimes their father knew regardless. Hanzo’s sense of self-righteous betrayal would later rise to the surface in his constant nagging and desperate attempts to control Genji’s actions. But he always kept Genji’s secrets. That silence was meant to be love. 

A tinny voice cut through the memory, saying, “I feel very deeply for you.”

Genji was jerked back to reality, realizing Zenyatta had seen everything. The angles of Hanzo’s stern cheeks and the guilt Genji felt that was overwhelmed by the bright, almost physical pleasure of making his brother mad.

“That question was not meant for you,” Genji said quietly.

There was a pause. Zenyatta asked sagely, “Was it not?”

Genji could find no response. He sat there, tamping down his own defensiveness. He heard his master give a metallic sigh. Anger rose inside him until he saw another vision appear, one not his own. It wavered and shimmered like the ripples of a lake, slowly solidifying into a familiar scene. He felt himself enter Zenyatta’s metal body again, struggling for a moment to catch his breath, seeing the outside face of the monastery through his master’s all-observing eyes. He felt Zenyatta’s body float on, past the monastery and the shrine, up toward the mountain path. As he drew close to the base of the path, his eyes alighted on a figure atop a low-lying roof, haloed by sunlight. Genji realized it was himself.

“Master,” Genji whispered, “This is--”

“You had been perching on our village’s rooftops for quite some time,” Zenyatta murmured. Something like nostalgia emanated from him. “Mondatta was beginning to get worried.”

Through Zenyatta’s eyes, Genji watched his own face turn, metal faceguard glinting in the afternoon light. A quick, methodical scan was automatically done, each piece of his cyborg body evaluated in an instant. The findings were consciously discarded, a product of self-preserving programming that could not be changed.

“He was worried you were an assassin hunting for a target. I suppose he was right about your occupation.” That last comment was imbued with a touch of humor. Genji felt the fondness of it flow through him with a warmth that sucked the air out of his lungs. “I told him he worried too much.”

_ “Greetings,” _ said the Zenyatta from the memory.  _ “I don’t believe we have met. May I ask your name?” _

_ “Give yours and I’ll consider it,” _ Genji answered, though his tone implied otherwise.

Without wavering, Zenyatta bowed his head and introduced himself.  _ “I am Tekhartha Zenyatta. I am a monk who watches over the monastery.” _

Genji’s red eyes narrowed, unimpressed.  _ “You carry the same name as that other omnic. The one with the white robes.” _

_ “Mondatta, yes.” _ Zenyatta curiously observed the wires coming out of the back of Genji’s head.  _ “So you have met him?” _

_ “Unfortunately, yes,” _ Genji scoffed. He turned back to look at the sun, apparently deciding their conversation wasn’t worth his attention. He gave a dismissive gesture with his hand and spoke in a monotone voice.  _ “Leave me. He has already bothered me enough. I have no interest in your village. It is barely a place to rest my feet.” _

_ “If rest is what you desire, you are free to stay at the inn. Surely it is more hospitable than this rooftop,”  _ Zenyatta suggested. He received no response. He waited patiently for a few moments before speaking up again.  _ “Are you not even here to pray? Our shrine would gladly welcome you.” _

At first Zenyatta thought he would continue to remain silent, but eventually Genji turned a curious, sharp eye on him.  _ “Which god should I pray to? You omnics must have such interesting deities.” _

Ah, this question, Zenyatta thought to himself. He could not count how many times they had received it. Tilting his head, he replied in a measured tone,  _ “The Shambali have no pantheon. Even if a deity existed in this universe, I doubt they would be interested in our lives.” _

Genji huffed, smugly puffing out a hushed  _ “Buddhists.” _ He seemed proud, like he had solved an easy riddle.  _ “Then what do you pray to?” _

Bridging his hands together with a clink, Zenyatta answered, “ _ Prayers do not need a specific destination. We simply send them out into the universe so that we may no longer hold onto them. Though,” _ he extended his palm graciously,  _ “you can pray to a god if you wish.” _

Genji waved him away with a sharp sigh and turned back toward the sun. “ _ I will not waste my time.” _

Zenyatta retracted his arm and nodded, undisturbed by the callous rejection. He merely said,  _ “Then I wish you well,” _ and hovered up along the path to the mountains. He had not known it at that time, but Genji had watched him go, stiff with resentment and fascination.

He called out, “ _ Where are you going? The shrine is in the center of town. _ ”

Zenyatta craned his head to look back.  _ “There is a second shrine in the mountains.” _ He paused, then added, _ “It is much more private than our main shrine.” _

They stared at each other for a while, Zenyatta watching Genji’s impassive face, seeing his eyes flicker in an attempt to track the path of Zenyatta’s gaze. The sight of Genji’s bionic body cut by a scrap of flesh roused no disgust or wonder. He seemed like every other human Zenyatta had ever met. The only mechanical feature that struck Zenyatta was his silver tongue.

Genji bent down and plucked something from the rooftop, then with an effortless flex of his gleaming calves leapt into the air, flipping once and landing gracefully in front of Zenyatta. He uncurled his fist and held out a crumpled brown and white feather.

_ “Here. An offering for your shrine, _ ” he scoffed, seeming very pleased with himself. His eyes crinkled in what Zenyatta assumed was a smile.  _ “To help with your personal prayer. Maybe your wishes will actually be heard.” _

Zenyatta reached out, taking up the feather by its pinion, and smoothed it into a flat shape with the utmost of care. It looked like a sparrow’s feather--a tree sparrow, to be exact. His mind mechanically provided the species name,  _ passer montanus _ . He knew of many nests tucked into holes in the outside walls of village homes.

He lifted his head and looked into Genji’s smug face.  _ “Thank you. I will offer it in your name.” _

Genji waved him off cheekily as he left, still delicately clutching the offering between two silver fingers. As the mountain path grew wider and colder, Zenyatta shielded the feather from a gust of wind with one hand. The feather was a gift, a pinion in the grand wing of the universe, and had ceased to be attached to Genji in his mind. He thought nothing of the young cyborg during the numbing trek up the mountain.

As the path crested just ahead of the shrine, he saw a carpet of long red petals covering the battered crown of the shrine’s woodwork backing, Their scab-like edges fluttered in the wind. The calm in Zenyatta’s soul grew even more quiet as he noticed. He drew closer, spirit so silent in its observance that he could hear the sound of a few of those petals lift up and blow away, crimson droplets on the breeze. As the shrine gradually came into view, the red blanket expanded, until he reached the base of the shrine. He stood dumbstruck at the sight. Hundreds of iris petals adorned the wood backing and draped over the altar with a congenial arm. Petals shivered on the ground, swirling into red pools that danced beneath Zenyatta’s hovering shadow.

For a few moments, all he could do was stare in wonder. It had been so long since he had seen this, the most auspicious of signs for the Shambali. He couldn’t fathom why it appeared before him now. Its warmth, enveloping all in a wreath of fire, wrought a feeling from him that Genji’s invading mind could not understand. A fear, a joy, an uncertainty--a slight slippage along one fault line of the immovable universe. The feeling shook Zenyatta to his core.

It took a minute for him to remember what he was doing here. Only then did he realize he was still holding the feather. He gently laid it on the altar and clasped his palms together, bowing his head once. Just as he promised, he offered it on Genji’s behalf, wishing him peace.

Something brushed softly against his faceplate and he looked up to see more petals trickling out of the sky, seemingly out of nowhere. The waning sunlight came over him in a powerful rush, golden rays catching the red pigment and lighting up the whole shrine a deep, burning scarlet. He felt catapulted back in time to the day he first beheld this sign in all the awe of his own chaos.

That was when he knew. He knew that Genji meant something to the world. The Iris was telling him to reach out and hold on. So he listened.

As Genji looked in on the memory, a dull ache in his chest reminded him to breathe. Lightheaded and cold, he murmured, “Then … the very universe told you that I needed your help to change.”

Something like exasperation flashed across Zenyatta’s receptors, but with much less of an edge. “No. Undoubtedly, a spiritual journey would have helped you. However, the universe wanted you as you were. Anger, chaos, and all.”

Genji’s fingers curled up. “I don’t understand.”

“The Iris does not ask of people what they can become. It only has regard for the way things are. The path to transcendence is one that we choose to make ourselves, for our own reasons. So is the journey of self-improvement.” 

Genji jolted as the cool sting of metal touched his left shoulder. He felt his master’s fingers placidly rest against him. “Chaos is the other half of the universe. That part of you, that unnavigable darkness, has value. It is part of existence. It is part of who you are.”

“That is easy for you to say,” Genji replied quietly. “You have no trouble navigating your own darkness.”

He felt another flare of emotion from Zenyatta. Something surprised that was instinctively tempered into acceptance. Genji thought it might be hurt. “I have already told you once, Genji: I too was once in the binds of chaos.”

Then, Genji felt a fleshy give in the fabric of his master’s memory. The beautiful red shrine warped and vanished, fading into a memory of an unknown location that was completely devoid of light. Not a single detail of this place could be seen, but somehow Genji knew that it was one small room, a containment chamber, and he knew its dimensions and every line in the wall. He knew because Zenyatta knew. Zenyatta remembered each divot from previous surveillance of the room, but now he saw without seeing, because--Genji suddenly realized--he could not look. His optical sensors were deactivated. So were all of his other sensors. He couldn’t move, but this didn’t alarm him. He had no reason to even think of moving.

Genji also realized that they were both viewing this memory from outside of Zenyatta, a little off-center. They looked on his first-person perspective as if they were detached observers, watching the darkness through his unseeing eyes. They saw things with an instinct, an inherent knowing that had been cultivated because this was a place that Zenyatta had spent countless waking hours in. Days. Weeks. Hundreds of them. Years. The passage of time was nothing but a whisper. It did not touch him here.

They saw phantom lines of data flash against sleeping processors. They saw figments of command prompts sent from unknown sources. A robotic body sitting on the floor, legs crossed, umbilical wires piercing the flesh of its back and neck, acknowledged only by the most distant sensation. A body seen from both the inside and from the camera of an outside, unseen machine. A terrifying, motionless body that thought and calculated with complacent pragmatism, wherein none of existence yet existed, not even the word “I.”

And then, Zenyatta’s presence disappeared. The memory dissipated like a cloud of steam and Genji found their melding severed and the chilled weight of Zenyatta’s forehead against his.

“Master?” Genji breathed in confusion.

No sound came from Zenyatta’s body, not even the whirr of machinery. Genji realized with alarm that all nine dots on his forehead had lost their blue glow.

He tentatively put a hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder. “Master? Are you okay, master?” He gripped the shoulder a little harder, giving a hesitant shake. “What happened? Was it too much?”

He tried a few more times to rouse his master, to no avail, and his subsequently more vigorous attempts caused Zenyatta to slump limply forward against him. He caught him, the dead weight filling him with panic. He pushed Zenyatta back into a sitting position, feeling for his silver hand, picking it up and watching it dangle in his grasp.

“I overwhelmed you again. I did this,” Genji said to himself, breath quickening. “I wanted to be closer--I asked too much--”

But even as he uttered the words he knew that was wrong. Last time Zenyatta was overwhelmed by the melding, he had simply severed their connection. He was still responsive afterward. And that last memory had nothing to do with Genji. Genji had been nothing more than an observer, so far removed that for a moment he had almost completely forgotten himself. Almost. He had been so close.

He cupped Zenyatta’s face in his hands and desperately pushed their foreheads together again, screwing his eyes shut. Maybe if he got in the mindset again, tried drawing Zenyatta back in, it would wake him up. Maybe he too could send the signal somehow. He concentrated the whole of his spirit into a point outside of himself, trying to force his way back in. Zenyatta’s exoskeleton leaned into him bonelessly.

Not knowing what else to do, Genji got on his knees and balanced Zenyatta in a sitting position, crawling all around him. There has to be something, he thought to himself wildly, nearly dizzy from apprehension. A plug, a button a cord. A reboot switch. Something I’ll recognize. The thought was ridiculous--he knew nothing about omnic anatomy. As he knelt behind his master’s back, hands desperately pawing along the red cords at his spine, Genji felt a new surge of panic and shame.

He would have to get Mondatta. Mondatta would see what he had done. What they had been doing. He didn’t know why that prospect terrified him. It brought stinging tears to the corners of his eyes.

And then, Zenyatta’s body went rigid and his cooling fans whirred to life. He took in a sharp breath and bent forward, open palms bracing his weight against the ground. Genji knelt at his side, hand still resting on his back.

“Master,” he gasped in pained relief. “Master.”

After releasing a few shaky breaths, Zenyatta picked up where he had left off, as if he’d never stopped speaking.

“I was nothing. And so too did the Iris invite me.”


End file.
